


Home in Motion

by nomdeplume13



Series: Home in Motion Universe [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Children, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 56
Words: 231,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomdeplume13/pseuds/nomdeplume13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel swore he was done with spur of the moment decisions that permanently changed Dean Winchester's life. A year after the angel's most disastrous, his newest may present the largest challenge of dean's life: Fatherhood.<br/>Pairing: Dean/Cas eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unwanted Child

_AN: I don't own Supernatural or the boys, and I don't profit from this._

_This story takes place in May of what would be Season 7, but Season 6 ended slightly differently with Cas having a change of heart. I'll try to ease you into the differences as you read. I have several chapters completed in this story already and should be able to publish fairly regularly, even when my schedule gets a bit hectic._

**Home in Motion**

**_"Traveling in the company of those we love is home in motion." Leigh Hunt_ **

Chapter 1  
The Unwanted Child

_"Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven."  
Henry Ward Beecher, Reverend and Social Activist._

"We're going to have to split up," Dean told him. "I'll interview the widow, you question the witness." The hunter was in the process of stripping off his t-shirt and jeans to put on a suit and tie. Though Castiel wore nothing else and the Winchesters both wore suits when the need to impersonate BFI... no, wait, it was FBI—since Castiel would soon be impersonating one of these agents, he should really know this—to impersonate FBI agents, the attire always seemed very odd to the angel. At least on Dean.

"We have already parted ways with Bobby and Sam," Castiel said as he picked up the badge Dean had made for him. Apparently, he was to be Agent Plant to Dean's Page; Castiel did not know much about human music, but he had a suspicion this had something to do with a rock band, one Dean liked. "Do you think it is wise to 'split up' once again?"

There had been two jobs simultaneously, and while Dean and Sam were the natural best choice for a hunting team, splitting up the four required the teams of two consist of Dean and Castiel going to Minnesota and Sam and Bobby to Montana. No other combination made nearly as much sense. Sam and Bobby worked well together and Castiel worked best with Dean.

"Cas," Dean said as he began to button up the crisp white shirt, "Dude, you would freak out the widow, and according to the people in town, if we don't talk to the woman who saw the whole thing before noon, she won't really be capable of answering anything." Castiel tilted his head, not understanding why the woman would suddenly lose her ability to speak after a certain time of day. "She 'finds a liquor store' at about that time of day."

Cas inclined his head with a silent "ah." So there was a time limit, apparently. "Then I will go to speak to the woman before she becomes too inebriated." He was about to transport himself to the road in front of the woman's house when Dean stopped him. The hunter approached him and gestured for the angel to lift his chin. Castiel obeyed, allowing Dean to button the top button and tighten his tie.

"But it is uncomfortable," he said as the hunter's hands smoothed it down and then buttoned his coat. Dean had been making more of an effort over the last year. Once the anger over Castiel's lies had faded, the hunter had begun to blame himself that the angel hadn't felt he could trust him to help. Though Castiel had tried to tell Dean that trust had never been an issue, it was obvious the hunter was actively trying to correct whatever wrong he saw. It made for more opportunities to "just hang out," more questions about how Castiel was doing, and more moments when the hunter felt the need to tend to him, rather than the other way around. The angel wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, but he did know he liked it.

"Yes, and the alternative is walking around looking like a pedophile." Castiel's eyes widened at the implication. He prepared a very angry retort that he would _never, ever_ consider touching a child in such an inappropriate and sinful manner. "I'm only kidding, Cas." Dean smiled at him and adjusted the angel's collar. "Sort of."

Castiel offered him a withering look before he popped away to a secluded area near the woman's house. He had been informed by the Winchesters—and Bobby—that his method of travel could have the potential to cause "mass hysteria," to use Sam's words, if he should suddenly materialize out of thin air in the presence of others. Castiel found it a bit insulting that the Winchesters and Bobby seemed to think he had no ability to control where or when he made his appearances merely because he did not bother to do so to them.

The angel was perfectly understanding when his friends would offer him advice on some human idiosyncrasy or pop culture reference that would have passed his notice while in heaven. However, he took issue with the fact that they seemed to believe that his "Rainman"—Sam had been kind enough to explain that particular pop culture reference—tendencies carried over into the role he had possessed for millennia. Honestly, there were times he wondered just how big of an idiot his friends believed him to be.

He had enough common sense, despite their obvious opinions otherwise, not to seek out that answer.

The house he was seeking was out in the middle of nowhere, with a front porch that looked as though it could give way at any moment. He removed the badge from his trench coat pocket and checked more than a few times that he had it upright before he knocked on the door and brandished it to the woman who answered. He had yet to develop the ready skill with the badge that came to Dean so naturally.

"I'm Agent Plant, FBI. I needed to ask Meriwether Lucas a few questions about Fanny Butler." Thankfully, his lying had gotten better.

"That's me," the woman said as she opened the door widely and allowed Castiel to step inside. Apparently, the noon guideline was a rough estimate. A very rough estimate. It was barely after ten and she smelled stronger than the angel did on a bender, and that was saying something given how much he had to drink to become inebriated. She wobbled a bit before dragging a red-nailed finger over the lapel of Castiel's suit. "Why don't you come on in and make yourself comfortable?"

The angel assumed this was the woman's attempt at seducing him. He had witnessed enough of human interaction from afar to know that they did, but he honestly wondered sometimes how such cloying moves could possibly work and how. "Miss Lucas, please..."

"Please, call me Meri. My parents were very cruel to name me Meriwether, don't you think?" The somber angel gave no answer, but watched as she took a seat on the sofa and patted the spot beside her. Castiel opted to perch on the armrest.

"Meri," he began and didn't even bother to offer the small smile he generally attempted. Dean may have encouraged him to be friendlier when they were on a hunt, but Castiel thought that there had to be exceptions to that. Like when a woman looked very eager to recreate that scene he had watched that involved the pizza man when: a. there were more important things to consider and b. Castiel found the woman trying to recreate the scene almost entirely repulsive. "I was hoping you could tell me what you saw when you paid a visit to Fanny Butler's home."

Meri slid closer on the armrest. "It was terrible. Just terrible." She attempted to bat her eyelashes at him, but the blond woman looked more like she was having a mild seizure. "I saw that her door was open. She's an elderly woman..."

Castiel did not need to listen to this thinly veiled story. It was not the truth, or even close to it. So while she placed a hand on his knee and attempted to slide it upwards, he listened instead to her thoughts and the reality of that day.

_Meri needed a fix, and that old bitch Butler had more crap than she needed and had lost enough of her brain that she wouldn't even miss it. The senile woman was even stupid enough to leave the door unlocked most days. Meri turned the knob and tried her very best not to let out a small shout of victory at her easy access to the house._

She immediately raided the woman's dining room for the silver. She was smart enough not to grab any pieces that might see frequent use and instead focus on things like the ladle, cake server and cake knife. The house was completely silent as she made her way out to the kitchen. It was odd, she thought, that it should be so quiet. Shew knew that Butler's dog was getting old, too, but the last time Meri had ventured onto the woman's property, that annoying little Pomeranian had yipped like crazy.

What she found on the kitchen floor would quite possibly scar her for life, and it would almost certainly increase the amount of her vices she would come to rely on just to make it through the day.

"Her chest was wide open," Meri said. "Looked like something had just ripped into her. Heard it was the heart that went missing." Her bleached-blond head shook as though to clear the picture from behind her eyelids. "I'm not surprised, after seeing that."

 _Well,_ Castiel thought, _at least there was finally some honesty._

All the angel could assume was that this was the work of a skinwalker. The sleeper cells had been awakening in areas around the world, though they were not actually following through on their plans to turn each family that kept them as their pets. They were, instead, giving in to bloodlust and killing. The only small consolation in that fact was that these singular incidents usually led to the entire local pack being eradicated by hunters before they could do any more damage or double their numbers.

"It frightened me so much," she said as her hand slid upwards on the angel's thigh, causing him to squirm. "I could really use the support of a strong man."

Castiel saw she was looking at him expectantly, and in return, he gave her a few brief pats on the back with a "there, there." She seemed wholly unimpressed.

The angel stood from his perch and prepared to leave when he heard a whimper coming from one of the rooms at the rear of the house. He knew the noise instantly and was almost ashamed of himself for not having noticed the presence of a second soul earlier. "You have a child?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," she said quickly. "It'll be fine. It's napping."

With a tilt of his head, the angel looked at the woman and frowned. He had seen inside of her mind and there had been no concern, no worry, not even a passing thought about a child. Not even in the memory when she had been breaking into Fanny Butler's home had she thought about a baby. Even now, he noted the way she called the child "it."

Something was very wrong here, and he would at least try to assuage his concern. He had seen atrocities, committed by monsters and humans alike, and he would no more allow this child to become a victim of its mother than he would the skinwalker he was tracking for Dean. Before he left this house, he would insist upon checking the child to ensure that it was safe and healthy. He already had a sneaking suspicion otherwise.

"I would like to see the child," Castiel said, giving off just enough of his angelic nature to influence this woman into doing what he wanted. Sadly, this tactic never worked with Dean and had only mild coercive effects with Sam and Bobby. Considering how things had turned out last year and how blind Castiel had been to his own actions, perhaps it was for the best that his "mojo" had little affect on the three hunters.

Meri looked at him with a somewhat awestruck expression on her face, mixed with the slightest bit of confusion as to why she suddenly felt this way. "If you insist. Just quickly, though. Then maybe you and I can continue our little talk?"

She led him down the hallway to the room furthest away from the rest and opened the door. The walls inside were completely bare. This "mother" had not even bothered to paint them, let alone adorn them with images of children's toys, cartoon animals, storybook characters and the like that Castiel was familiar to seeing in babies' nurseries. There were no toys sitting anywhere on the floor in the room, and the only pieces of furniture was an old, battered crib and a dresser that looked to double as a changing table.

Castiel approached the crib, noting how dingy the sheets looked, how few toys were inside with the baby. Then he saw the child, probably not even a year old yet, sitting in silence yet looking up at Castiel with large, hopeful green eyes. Strawberry blond wisps of hair framed a too-thin face with skin pale not by nature but by an complete lack of exposure to the sun.

"Not much to look at, I know," Meri said. "Well, you saw him. Why don't you come on then and we'll..."

He raised a single silencing hand to the woman, and even if she wanted to speak, she would have found it impossible. He could feel this child's soul reverberating in this sad little room. It was desperate and lonely and longing for touch. Yet even as Castiel approached it, the baby did not reach up for him. One lesson had already been taught in the babe's short life: any desire for attention would be found wanting.

It was as he was nearly close enough to touch the baby that he saw what had made the child imperfect by its mother's standards. The child's left arm tapered down to nothing just above where its wrist would have been. Everything else appeared perfectly normal and healthy, but the child's absent hand was apparently the reason for the mother's treatment, and the vengeful rage that Castiel felt on the baby's behalf brought back memories of his days as a warrior for God.

He placed a palm flat against the child's cheek, but did so slowly and gingerly. The baby obviously had no real experience with touch, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten it. The moment his hand made contact with the soft skin of the baby's cheek, however, he could feel it—no, him—lean into the unfamiliar touch.

Castiel could feel the child's soul dancing just beneath the surface, and the loneliness he could sense there made something in the angel's chest ache. The child still did not dare to reach up for Castiel, but he did offer a mostly toothless smile. Smiles did not come naturally to Castiel, but he knew one was needed now. His own smile was small, but the baby saw it. Castiel could feel the wrath inside of him growing as the baby's own grin spread in just pure gratitude that someone was greeting him with kindness. And yet, that happy look was still so tentative, just like the arms that were cautiously reaching up toward the angel. The boy was too young to have lost the ability to hope, but it was obviously weakened by time in this woman's care.

Castiel had never carried a child before. The closest he'd experienced had been cradling Dean's soul as he pulled it out of Hell, and the man's soul was in some ways both larger and smaller than this child, heavier and yet lighter. The comparison was perhaps impossible; a soul was so very different than the vessel that housed it.

Still, the angel found himself gathering the baby into his arms and holding him close as he had with Dean's broken soul. The reddish-haired boy rested his cheek against Castiel's trench coat and let out a sigh of complete contentment. He slipped into the baby's mind nearly as easily as he fell—sometimes unintentionally—into Dean's, and there was no doubt that the child had been neglected. He was slightly malnourished, left unattended for long periods of time, touched only when it was absolutely necessary, and met with only anger and loathing from his mother.

"I will be taking this child," Castiel said to the woman. He wasn't entirely sure just what he would do once he had the boy, but he knew he would not leave him here. The woman looked horrified and tried to speak but said nothing. It was only at that point that the angel remembered that she could not speak, even though she may have wanted to. "I am not reporting you to the authorities."

He released the hold over her voice and listened to her rant about where he "got off" and calling him names that were far less creative than he'd come to expect from his time with Dean.

The thought of the man brought to mind a possible solution for what to do with the baby currently snuggling against his chest. Dean had wanted a family, after all. He'd embraced parenthood throughout his entire life, whether he had been acting as mother and father to Sam or as step-father to Ben. "I could, however, report you. Put you in jail. I know that you don't want that. Not any more than I know you want this boy."

Once again, he used his influence to convince the woman this was a good idea, the perfect solution. He could not take away her free will, but he could nudge her in the right direction. She had already proven herself susceptible. "It would please my..." Castiel had to pause here to think of the term Dean had insisted he use while posing as an FBI agent. "My partner. He has wanted a family."

The woman snorted. "Makes sense now why you weren't interested in what I had to offer."

Castiel couldn't help himself as he tilted his head to the side and looked at her curiously. "I am a professional, ma'am. I do not see how the revelation of my partner's desire for a family makes any difference in whether or not I responded to your poor attempts at seduction."

He could see her anger flaring, and there was a part of the angel that wanted to provoke the anger, if only so that he would have a justified reason of lashing out at Meri for the way she treated her son. He also knew that he needed to get this boy away from her, and the only way Dean would accept that was if he didn't harm her. He seriously considered wiping her memories of the baby and leaving, but he had a suspicion that Dean wouldn't approve of that, either. "I have... connections," he said to her. "I can have all of the paperwork fixed before day's end."

"You're serious," she said incredulously. "You honestly want that thing?" She paused for a moment and seemed to be seriously considering his offer. "You know, I get assistance for him. You and your 'partner' would have to make it worth my while."

Castiel knew he would get her agreement, but he still hadn't written off the possibility of wiping her memory anyway. Perhaps back to childhood.


	2. What to Expect When You're Expecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds out what Cas has done.

Chapter 2  
What to Expect When You're Expecting

_"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."  
Friedrich Schiller, German poet and playwright_

Well, George Masters' widow turned out to be a big help, given that she had witnessed the attack on her husband, promptly hauled her dog to the vet's and had him put to sleep. Dean suspected that couldn't be the entire story, but the woman certainly seemed sure the dog was dead.

She had lied to the police initially, telling them she didn't know where her dog was. Talking to her today, it was obvious she didn't regret doing that, either. She knew they would put the dog under observation, maybe treat it for whatever disease it had, and perhaps even doubt that the once again docile dog could be capable of the damage that was done to her husband. The damage that was done to George Master's body didn't look like the work of one dog. Dean could only guess that the shapeshifter had been crazed when he'd attacked him.

So, Gretchen Walker had taken her husband's killer to be put down immediately. She hadn't warned the vet's office of the potential for a communicable disease until later that day and God knows how many animals were put into quarantine for a few hours and how much sterilization had to be done at that poor vet's office under the fear that the animal might have carried rabies. Apparently, to avoid a lawsuit, the wealthy woman had written a large check to the vet's office to buy her way out of trouble.

Oh yeah, the Walker woman was a bitch, but he did owe her.

According to her her, the skinwalker had been cremated immediately, so while the euthanizing drugs wouldn't have been enough to kill him, he never even had a chance to recover from them before being put into the fire. Her ruthlessness after she saw her husband being shredded to pieces by the family pet had made Dean's job a hell of a lot easier.

The problem now was to find out where the rest of this sleeper cell of skinwalkers could possibly be. He pulled the keys to the hotel out of his pocket and opened the door to the intensely turquoise and blue room. He saw Cas in the corner on the other side of the large dresser/TV stand. Dean couldn't see what he was doing, but he was staring at something next to the dresser very intently.

"Hey, Cas. How'd it go with the witness?"

The angel gave Dean only the quickest of looks before shushing him. He considered raising his voice instead—he'd always did the opposite of what he was told—but shushing wasn't really in Cas's normal repertoire.

The hunter raised an eyebrow and approached Cas slowly, now intensely curious about what had the angel's attention. When he spotted a crib, Dean stopped short. "Why is there a baby in the room?" Dean asked. Was it a skinwalker baby? Hopefully it wasn't another shapeshifter kid. The whole random bodily explosion thing was a little freaky, even by his standards.

"His mother was unfit."

"You do recall that I'm a hunter and you're an angel and we don't run an orphanage. You can't just kidnap a woman's child just because she doesn't treat it right."

"I am aware of that," Cas said. "His soul is bright." And then the angel looked at him like that simple statement explained it all.

"Cas..." There were a number of facets of human nature that Dean thought he would need to explain to the angel, but he had assumed the very huge faux pas of taking someone's child was not one of them.

There was a loud, long-suffering sigh. "His soul is very like yours. Bright, pure, warm."

Dean was grateful that the angel's blue eyes were still focused on the child in the crib because he knew he was shifting awkwardly at the mention of his soul. Dean wasn't very fond of hearing people talking about his soul in general. It made him uncomfortable, made him squirm inside. It was worse when it was Cas talking about it, and the angel always looked confused as to why it did. The soul just seemed so private in the first place. Add to that the way Cas tended to talk about Dean's soul and it felt like the angel was talking about his dangling bits.

"She never touched him," Cas said. "Only when necessary. Only enough to get state aid and child support for him. The father abandoned her long before she was aware she was even pregnant." The angel's hand moved down into the crib to run through the tuft of red-blond hair atop the baby's head. "She was giddy to be rid of him. Once I promised her she would be paid handsomely to get rid of her 'cash cow, that is.'"

"You bought this baby?"

"She believed I was going to," he answered. "You told me once that when humans want something, they lie." The damned angel was actually smirking at this. "I was feeling particularly human today."

Dean wondered just how much of a bad influence he had been on his friend over the years. To take a woman's child like this... The act was done out of such blind instinct that it was almost frightening. It was reminiscent of what Cas had done with Purgatory, and Dean's forgiveness for that had not come quickly or easily.

"I adjusted her memories and have asked someone with more skill in these areas to alter the official records. As far as the world is concerned, Meri lost her baby to its father."

"Mary?" Dean repeated, feeling, if it was possible, even worse about this entire situation knowing that the baby's mother had shared a name with his own.

"Meriwether," Cas said, instantly knowing where the hunter's brain had gone because, damn him, he couldn't manage to stay _out of his head._ "It is spelled differently."

Narrow fingers pulled down the green blanket that covered the baby. "She could not see past this." Dean saw the baby's hand, or rather lack of one, and frowned. Poor kid. That sure as hell wasn't going to make life easy. From the sound of it, it had already made it difficult.

"Can you heal him?"

"I have," Cas said. "I have helped the malnutrition he suffered at her hands, as well a few skin conditions he developed from being left in his crib for many hours of the day. His hand is nothing that can be healed. It is how my Father made him."

"You realize the foster care system is far from perfect, and he might have a hard time getting adopted." Dean didn't like to be the one who took a dump in Cas' little plans for the baby's future, but he hoped the angel was at least being realistic.

"Of course I do," Cas said. "That is why I—" Before he could finish his thought, they were no longer alone in the room, and by that faint noise of fluttering wings, Dean knew it was one of Cas's family paying them a visit.

"All done," said the voice of one of many angels he could have gone a lifetime without having to hear again. Even though the angel had been a large part of why they had been able to knock some sense into Cas last year, his actions hadn't exactly made Dean want to become best buddies. He was still an annoying prick most of the time. "You two are now the proud mommy and daddy of John Gabriel Winchester."

Dean looked up at Balthazar and then back at Cas as his brain tried to catch up. There were so very many things wrong with that statement that he simply didn't know where to begin. "Wait... Winchester?"

"Castiel doesn't exactly have a surname to bestow on your bouncing baby boy," Balthazar said as he swaggered over to the crib. He glanced at the child inside and smirked. Dean may have been confused as hell, but that protective nature of his was daring the angel to make a comment about the baby's arm. In fact, it welcomed the fight that would ensure. "Odd... I thought couples like you usually found some adorable little child from China to adopt." Dean should react to that, to tell him to fuck off at the insinuation that he and Cas were anything but friends, like brothers really, but the obnoxious asshole had been this condescending for years now and getting angry did nothing to stop it.

"Kid has a bit of the ginger genes in him. I'm honestly surprised that you'd take that risk, Cas. You know gingers have no souls."

Before Dean could have even blinked, he witnessed Cas slamming Balthazar into the dresser, which shook violently at the impact. Dean wasn't the most sensitive to the powers angels possessed, but even he had sensed the way Cas's Grace had flared as he snarled at Balthazar, "He has a soul."

Balthazar winced and glared at the other angel. "It is a joke, mama bear." He looked to Dean. "Are you honestly telling me that you have let him watch porn, but you haven't shown him South Park yet?"

"I didn't show him the porn. He found it on his own," he replied before placing a hand on Cas's arm. Cas's grip on Balthazar lessened, but he was still shooting him daggers. "Now, will one of you two featherbrains please explain to me what is going on, and why the kid's name is John Gabriel?"

"His mother named him Jacob Edward, and I thought it wrong for a hunter to raise a child named after a werewolf and a vampire, fictional though they may be. And your family seems to prefer to name children after the deceased, so I chose your father and my brother."

Dean had the sudden feeling of being back in high school biology, with that clinical teacher who answered everything so matter-of-factly that even the idea of cutting into a frog had been boring. (Admittedly, at the time, Dean had cut into much worse than frogs.) Cas's logic was so dry, so straight-forward that Dean wasn't entirely sure how to argue with it to make the angel understand why his reasoning was so completely flawed.

Cas released Balthazar to face Dean fully. He looked almost troubled, and Dean thought perhaps the angel had realized the number of assumptions, almost all incorrect, he had made in taking this baby. "I know that you had your problems with my brother, but I had presumed, perhaps wrongly, that he had redeemed himself in your eyes by standing up to Lucifer."

Yes, Dean was sure his brain was going to lurch to a stop any moment now. The world had gone mad; perhaps he had, too. "Gabriel? You think the problem is because you named the kid Gabriel?"

"And on that lovely domestic note, I am off to spend my night with a very special girl," Balthazar said. "Or rather, ten special girls. Have fun with the joys of parenting, Mummy and Daddy." With that, the angel was gone, leaving Dean with the only one of the heavenly things that he could actually tolerate. Though, at the moment, he wasn't even sure he could do that.

"Cas, look, Gabriel was an ass who redeemed himself, yes. But that isn't the point." He looked down at the sleeping baby in the crib and then back up at Cas's too-blue eyes. "You're expecting me to, what, adopt the kid? Have you forgotten what I do?"

That head immediately tilted to the side and Dean was reminded again of biology class, except this time, he was feeling more like the frog being dissected. "I remember events from hundreds, even thousands of years ago. Why would you assume I have somehow forgotten that you are a hunter?"

"Because you brought home a baby!" Dean hissed in exasperation. "Do I need to remind you how royally I screwed up with Lisa and Ben? How dangerous just being me is, even if I decide to give up my life as a hunter?"

"You would not be without support," Cas said. "I have been given more freedom from Heaven. After the events of last year, many of my brethren do not trust me and would prefer I not be there nearly so much. Apparently, they fear what I might do if I get involved in Heaven again."

"You did pop purgatory and threaten to become God after killing the last of the top archangels," Dean said, wryly. He may have forgiven Cas, but Dean was never one to forget, as nearly anyone in their family could vouch for. There were times he hated how easy it was for him to throw up the mistakes of others when it suited him, especially when his own mind supplied that he had his own sins to bear.

Cas winced at the mention of his own well-intention-paved road to hell—or in this case, purgatory—and sighed before continuing.

"I don't know for certain who has taken over in my absence, but they do not want me in heaven. They feel I am better for being here, and when they need my assistance or opinion, they go through either Balthazar, or perhaps Metatron. My time in heaven has been greatly limited over the last year, and that wasn't entirely my own doing." Dean knew Cas still traveled to heaven but spent more time hanging around than he used to. He had just assumed it had been Cas's choice, not an order from above.

"So you are saying you want to raise the kid, too?" Dean asked, trying to imagine the world where he and Cas raising a child together wasn't weird as hell.

"I am saying that I will be here to help. As will Bobby and Sam." Cas gave him that look, that all knowing one that made Dean usually want to punch him in the nose. "You want a family, Dean, and this child needs one."

Before a retort could come to Dean's lips, he found Cas's hands at either side of his face and an intense wave of loneliness and sorrow engulfing him. He felt an ache in his stomach, an soreness to his body, and a fear of so many intangible things he couldn't place a name on any of them. And yet, underneath it all was a brightness and beauty that Dean had never seen before. Though he was certain that what he was seeing would be beautiful to anyone, he felt as though something inside was reaching out toward that brightness and beauty.

The sensation was all so overwhelming that his knees buckled, and he slid out of the angel's grasp. He very quickly found himself on the floor in a heap, breathing heavily and wide-eyed. He turned his head up to look at his friend to find an unreadable expression on the angel's face. He could feel the same longing for human contact so strongly he could taste it. The emptiness he'd just experienced was enough to bring tears to his eyes. It felt like a torture that could have been used effectively in Hell.

"What was that?"

"What I saw when I looked into that child's soul," Cas said, sadly. The hunter found a hand extended toward him to help him to stand, and despite his usual nature to take care of himself, he took the angel's hand. He was still a little shaky even as he was righted back on his feet, though he wouldn't admit aloud he was grateful as the angel's hand moved to his elbow to support him.

"Is that what you see when you look at him?"

"I can block it out. Some souls' pain makes it more difficult than others." He gave Dean a pointed look that let him clearly know that his was one of those souls. He wasn't the type to apologize, but after what he'd just felt, he had a nearly overwhelming need to tell Cas he was sorry for what his own damaged soul must have put the angel through. Maybe still was.

He stopped himself from saying it when he realized that the angel had been underhanded in showing Dean the baby's soul. There was no way now that Dean could reject the child now. He had already gotten a glimpse of this baby that even biological parents never got. Cas had irrevocably tied him to the boy. The angel could be a manipulative bastard when he wanted to be, and he unfortunately knew every single one of Dean's buttons.

The hunter inched toward the crib and looked down at the child, at the newly-named John Winchester. "What happens when the kid looks nothing like me?"

"He has remarkably green eyes," Cas said before reaching down to brush his hand over John's hair. It was a surprisingly tender action, and it was almost impossible to believe this was the same being that had years ago entered that barn as a warrior, as a creature who threatened to throw Dean back into the pits of hell. It was even more difficult to picture him as the vengeful thing he had become in that lab last year. "I also believe he will have freckles as he grows older and gets more exposure to the sun. These will be enough. People see what they want to see, and whatever lack of resemblance there is, they will assume it comes from his mother."

Dean tried not to dwell on the whole "remarkably green eyes" being a resemblance to himself, and instead focused on the baby in the crib. This was a million ways of fucked up, but Feathers there had made sure he couldn't turn the kid down. Son of a bitch.

The boy's eyes fluttered open, and just as Cas had said, they were an almost emerald green. They weren't the same as Dean's, which had the smallest flecks of brown giving them a color that Lisa had once described as "mossy." The baby instantly recognized the angel and offered him a smile as he leaned toward the hand that was gently playing with his hair. As the sleep faded from the baby's eyes, he finally noticed Dean standing at Cas's side, and he gave him a cautious stare.

Dean reached into the crib and placed his hands beneath each of the baby's arms to pick him up out of the crib. "Hello, Johnny." He had found it difficult holding children in the past, but Johnny instantly snuggled against his chest and actually sighed as Dean tightened his grip and held him close. "You're probably going to regret this, and if you do, make sure you take it up with your Uncle Cas over there, but... I guess I'm your new daddy."

When he darted a glance up at the angel, he was rewarded with an affectionate smile.


	3. People of Wal-Mart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean do some baby shopping.

Chapter 3  
People of Wal-Mart

_"Hugs can do great amounts of good--especially for children."  
Princess Diana_

If there was any positive to the abysmal treatment that Johnny's mother had given him, it was that no one in the small town actually knew the boy. Castiel was already aware from the boy's records that the number of people who had any contact with the child were very limited, only those required by law for Meri to receive her state aid. Most of them lived and worked in the small city to the east. This allowed Castiel and Dean the ability to walk about the town with little worry about being accused of kidnapping.

Johnny was sound asleep on Castiel's shoulder with his left arm tucked under his neck and right dangling at his side as the angel. He was fairly certain the boy was drooling, but considering what muck had gotten on his coat in the past, a little baby spittle was nothing.

Dean was busy navigating their way through the aisles of Wal-Mart, which was for the best because the angel was certain he would have gotten lost in the oddly designed baby section, and he had a divine sense of direction. The hunter hardly skipped a section, though he would avoid anything pink and was drawn to any item featuring a character familiar from his own or Sam's childhood. Apparently Disney was acceptable, and that included Pooh, Looney Tunes were better, and the Muppets or Sesame Street the best. Castiel did not understand the reasoning for the hierarchy, but Dean stuck to it.

"And absolutely none of that Nick Jr. or Yo Gabba crap," Dean said. "Johhny's going to appreciate the old school kid's stuff."

Castiel had no doubt that Dean would do his best to ensure his son watched both Star Trek and Wars, westerns, and the Three Stooges. At least, if what he had tried to introduce to Cas was anything to go by. Dean had looked unbelievably proud of him when he'd remembered not only Moe, Larry and Curly, but Shemp, Joe and Curly Joe as well. The angel still had yet to see the appeal, but enjoyed that Dean did, and now, Johnny probably would as well.

On occasion, when he needed to get something at the end of an aisle that was clear of other customers, Dean would give the cart a strong push and then hop onto the metal bar at the back. He would ride to the end, then stop it with surprising ease and begin picking up whatever he thought they needed. Castiel was finding it remarkable how much "they needed" considering how small Johnny was. Angels were born fully formed and had few needs, so the fact that the cart was getting close to overflowing was particularly astounding.

"He'll probably need some actual food, since he's got a couple of teeth." Dean held up different jars of the food and compared prices. "Damn, this is going to get expensive. Good thing the money isn't ours."

Castiel had to admit some surprise that Dean was handling this so well. He had never doubted that revealing to Dean the state of Johnny's soul would influence the man into taking on the role of father. What he had doubted was that the hunter would be so at ease in buying the necessities. Dean had mentioned once that he and Sam had been forced to shop for a shapeshifter baby and how clueless they had been. He had been grabbing things at random, unsure how to care for the child, and only just started to adapt before the baby had proven itself to be a shapeshifter.

The angel had been grateful to hear the story, had even smiled as Dean laughed at his own ineptitude, but he also knew he had only gotten to share the story with Dean because Sam couldn't. That particular memory was from the time when Sam had been soulless, and neither the brothers nor the extended family--which Castiel was somewhat pleased once again, and perhaps always had, included himself--wanted to risk Sam's mental wall coming down.

Castiel felt Johnny's hand move and clutch at his coat. The boy's body began to tense, so the angel did what seemed most natural. He began whispering soft platitudes in the baby's ear and rubbing his back. It was only as Johnny relaxed again that he realized that he was being stared at.

"What is it?" he asked the bemused-looking hunter.

"Nothing. You're surprisingly good at that. You're kind of a natural." Dean shrugged before resuming what he had been doing before he began watching the angel, which was apparently comparing a jar marked with a 1 and another with a 2.

He wasn't truly a natural at caring for a baby. He just had some relatable experience. Though he would never tell the hunter, he had done similar for Dean at nights when he knew the man's nightmares were preventing him from getting a peaceful night's sleep. Castiel had not needed to rub the man's back or card through his hair as he did with Johnny. All that had been necessary was to lay his hand over the mark dean still bore. He did not do it as he used to, since Dean's sleep had become even lighter than usual as of late, and the trust he had rebuilt with the hunter was still too tentative to risk.

"Guess the kid gets a 1. Looks less chunky," Dean said after sufficiently turning the jars from one side to another. "You said he was only on bottles before, right?"

"She didn't want to take the time to feed him," Castiel said, spitting out the mere reference to the woman who had given birth to the child in his arms, "and he's more than old enough to hold a bottle himself."

"Okay then."

With that decision made, Dean proceeded to toss jar after tiny jar into the cart. Formula would be next, which for some odd reason required the taking of a card to the front counter when they checked out. "Cas, do you remember what size diapers the kid wears?"

Dean had already declared that if Castiel had put him in this position, it was the angel's duty to change the soiled diapers, particularly the smelly ones. It only served to irritate Dean more that Castiel had the ability to just "zap away" the offending diaper and leave behind a clean baby in need of a fresh waste receptacle.

"He was in a three," he replied as he walked down the aisle. "But they were snug."

"Four it is, then," Dean said, looking between brands. "How the hell do you decide which is best? Leak guard? Super absorbency?" The man paused for a moment and then shuddered. "The last time I had to read those words, I was shopping for Lisa." Castiel tilted his head and frowned at his friend. The memory, whatever it was, appeared to be an unpleasant, and perhaps even humorous, one but not because it was sad or wistful, which he had come to associate with Dean's mentions of his former girlfriend.

"I was unaware that Lisa required incontinence supplies."

At that, Dean let out a laugh that rang out through the deserted Wal-Mart aisle. "No... Let me just say that you should be really grateful that you don't know what I'm talking about."

The man glanced around the diaper aisle, looking hopelessly lost until he spotted something that made his face split into a grin. "I am so getting these." He quickly threw two boxes of diapers that were designed to look like blue jeans into the cart. Castiel did not see the point in getting so excited over something that Johnny would be defecating in, but for once, he was not going to be the person to ruin Dean's good mood by pointing out the obvious.

"We need to get the kid some clothes," Dean said as they negotiated their way through the baby toys, with Dean snagging a few brightly colored plastic objects for Johnny to bang and chew upon.

The hunter had already gone ahead while Castiel stopped in front of a stuffed bear with angel wings in a praying position. He obeyed the button on the bear's hand indicating that he "Press Me Here," and listened as a childlike voice sounded from somewhere in the stuffed animals stomach.

"Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake. I pray the lord my soul to take."

"Always thought that prayer was creepy," said a woman's voice behind him. She smiled easily at Castiel, just as many people had while he'd carried Johnny through the store. Dean said that the baby neutralized the off-putting effect of Castiel's natural personality.

"It is well-intended," the angel said as he looked over the toys.

"Do you think you could recommend anything?" she asked. "I have to find a present for a baby shower, and I am at a loss."

"A baby shower?" Castiel asked, turning to face the blonde who was looking up at him expectantly. She was young, probably only in her very early twenties, and she wore a pair of jean shorts and a figure-hugging black t-shirt with a large pink heart.

"Yeah. You were probably lucky enough not to have to go to one. It's usually a real hen-fest." Castiel was now doubly confused. Showering babies and somehow involving hens? He was going to have to ask Dean about this later and play along as though he had some kind of clue what this woman was talking about. "I need to pick out a gift. Is there anything your little guy likes that you could recommend?"

Castiel looked at the toys, a little lost. "Well..." He tried to remember what he had seen babies playing with, what toys that miserable woman had used to keep Johnny entertained for those days, months on end when he got almost no interaction from her. He found a mat that had an attached arm with dangling soft toys that vaguely resembled a device that had been hooked over the top of Johnny's crib. "These seem to work well." It didn't seem all that different from the mobiles he had seen hanging and spinning over babies' heads in cribs. "And apparently, they make diapers that look like denim."

"I've seen those," she said, playing with a strand of her hair. "They're very cute. Do you and your... wife..." Castiel could hear the emphasis on the word "wife," though he wasn't entirely sure what it indicated. Perhaps she was trying to determine if he was single? "...buy them for him?"

"I am not married," Castiel replied as Johnny began to rouse with a wide yawn. The baby shifted for the first time since they had arrived at the store. His left arm rubbed at his face, and the angel tensed waiting for some form of repulsion from the young woman in front of him. He had witnessed it from others in the store before her, but he had hoped that she was as light and warm as she had seemed.

She obviously noticed it and was visibly saddened by the boy's handicap, but she quickly recovered with a smile. "Look at those pretty green eyes. I thought they might be blue like his daddy's."

"Oh, no, he _does_ take after his father," Castiel said. He had promised Dean that people would see the resemblance between the hunter and Johnny, and he was determined to help them see it if they needed to.

"Hey, Cas!" Speak of the devil was the saying, Castiel recalled. Dean gave the cart a firm push down the aisle and then rode the back of it before bringing it to a stop in front of Castiel and the blonde. "Look at this. The car looks almost like the Impala." He held up a red shirt with a black car on the front that _did_ look remarkably like Dean's first baby. "I needed the kid to compare sizes."

"Well, look at those green eyes," the woman said quietly with a small smile as she looked between Dean and Castiel.

"Oh," Dean was quick to put on his most charming smile. "Hello, there. I'm Dean."

"I was just speaking to ... Cas?" she half asked the question, obviously waiting for Castiel to affirm that was his name. Though he wasn't accustomed to people outside of his closest friends abbreviating his name in this way, he nodded his head all the same. "I have to shop for a baby shower and really need advice. Cas suggested this mat, but it is a little out of my price range."

Dean glanced around the aisle. "You could try for some of the necessities. My ex was really big on doing that for baby showers. Said moms always appreciated that in the long run anyway."

"You look like you're getting ready to go to a shower yourself," the blonde said with a smile as she pointed out the number of essentials they had in their cart.

"Uh, yeah... I forgot Johnny's bag when I packed up the car. So he needs just about everything," Dean said with a purposely awkward grin. The man was a professional at both lying and charming women; it never failed to amaze Castiel how many ways Dean had of just smiling at women to get them to do what he wanted. There was nothing rusty about the man's social skills. It could be infuriating, however, since the charming smile tended to come with a wandering eye and utter lack of focus on the discussion at hand. But when it wasn't serving in those ways as a hindrance, it was usually incredibly helpful when hunting.

Or when trying not to raise suspicions about how they had acquired a child in the last seven hours.

"I don't think I got your name." Dean was definitely interested in this woman, though that wasn't entirely surprising to Castiel. She was shapely, young, pretty, and an added bonus, she was genuinely nice. Dean typically only went for three of four.

"I'm Emma," she replied. "And I think I'll take your advice. After all, you two should know better than me."

It was at that moment Johnny realized Dean was there and turned fully around in Castiel's arms to offer a grin and tentatively reach for the hunter. The new father didn't hesitate for a moment to take the baby from Castiel.

"Looks like you get the cart now, Cas," Dean said as he held Johnny in one of his arms and grinned at the boy. It looked so natural that even Castiel began to believe that Dean had been doing this much longer than the last few hours.

"Are you three going to be in town for long, or just passing through?" Emma's hazel eyes were practically dancing as she watched Dean return a tight embrace from the little boy. It was fairly obvious, even to Castiel, that she found the father and son interplay endearing.

"We have a little business to finish in the area, so we might be around for a couple of days," Dean answered for them both. "Maybe we could grab dinner or something later."

Castiel could already hear Dean asking him later that evening to watch Johnny so that he could go out with Emma, but it was the young woman herself who threw a wrench into those plans.

"Absolutely." She began fishing in her pink purse--the same bright shade as the heart on her shirt--for a pen and a scrap of paper. "Here's my number. I'd love to see you and Cas and Johnny." She tentatively reached out to rub the back of the baby's head. "But even feel free to call if you're trying to find a good place to go out with the little guy. There aren't many restaurants in town, and the waitresses at the diner can be real ..." She looked at the baby for a moment and reconsidered what she was going to say. "Well, we'll call them witches for Johnny's sake. They don't _do_ kids well."

She handed over the phone number, written on the back of what looked like a receipt for coffee, complete with a partial brown ring. "

She turned the corner. "I'm going to start making that gift basket. You three have fun with your shopping. Really nice to meet all of you."

Dean watched her go, looking incredibly confused. "So... did one of us land a date or ... what?"

"You mistakenly assume that I would have more information than you on something relating to dating."

"Good point."

#

Johnny was a damned good kid. He made it through most of the store without a fuss, and not just because he spent a large portion of it sound asleep on Cas's shoulder. He smiled and kept quiet when he was awake, and it all made Dean consider how grateful his biological mother should be that Cas never informed him of where she lived. Dean knew that he if ever met the woman on the street, he couldn't be held responsible for what he did.

He was learning quickly that if he did intend to follow through with Cas's harebrained scheme, he was going to have to rein in his temper. He had seen adults, old people, children talking about Johnny's left arm and his first reaction had been to intimidate, sometimes even thrash, the idiots who made derogatory comments about it. Dean couldn't exactly go around and beat up every single person who picked on the kid. (He could think about it. He could find other ways to get even, but he couldn't just beat them up like he used to do for Sammy. For one thing, He was now a legal adult who could go to legal adult jail. Again.)

They had nearly made it to the checkout counter, all the while Johnny was busy chewing at his fingers, when he heard the kid start to whimper and look even a bit distressed. His first reaction had been to see if the bitch of a mother was somewhere around, but the only people he could see was a man wearing jean shorts dyed to look like the American flag and the elderly woman who had loaded her buggy down with about a crate of expensive cat food.

Dean could see Johnny's bottom lip quivering, yet the boy hadn't started to cry yet. He remembered all too well the feeling of being in public with a crying child. It had been a one-time experience, and he had decided afterward if he never had kids, he could be grateful it might stay that way just to avoid a repeat of that embarrassment.

Still, Johnny didn't cry, but Dean wasn't going to let the boy suffer. The problem clearly wasn't the other people in the store, and from what he could tell, Cas wasn't going to have to take over diaper duty. Johnny didn't look hurt in any way, which meant he was probably hungry. It had been a while since they'd last given him a bottle, and Dean wondered just how hungry Johnny must have been. He didn't cry for things like most babies. He was already a Winchester in how well he suffered in silence.

"Cas, bottle time." The angel, who had remembered to take some baby necessities from Johnny's mom's house but failed to grab a diaper bag, pulled a bottle out of his coat pocket and handed it to Dean, despite the fact that the hunter had been prepared to pass the baby. He could handle this. He thought.

Dean took the bottle and handed over his wallet to the angel so that he could pay so he could find a place to sit and feed Johnny comfortably. As he watched Cas readily take wallet containing the faked credit cards, he was grateful, not for the first time, this wasn't the Cas of years before. He wasn't sure that the Cas of then could have handled making a purchase with a credit card that wasn't his. Lying or even supporting a lie had been completely against that Cas's nature.

In the meantime, Dean took a spot on a black bench positioned outside of a salon that smelled way too strongly of perm chemicals. It brought back frightening memories of his girlfriends in the early nineties, even a bit later in the small towns that were always a few years behind every trend.

Once the cap was off the bottle, Johnny had no issues in feeding himself. That might not have been surprising for a child his age; Dean didn't know for sure. He did know that this kid had probably had to learn the skill earlier than most.

The hunter watched as his friend attempted to pay for their shopping trip. Cas made quick work of the small items but fought with the box containing the car seat, which had wanted to fall off, and the diapers, which had wedged themselves diagonally in the cart.

Dean watched as the car seat was placed on the conveyor belt and sighed. That was one more thing he would be getting even with Cas for. He had been irritated with Sam placing an iPod dock in his baby, and now he was going to have a car seat and all the strappings of parenthood that went along with it. Hell, he was going to have to get into the Impala and fish out the seatbelts from God knows where they disappeared to. At least he knew they were there, which hadn't always been the case. He remembered installing a seat with them the last time he'd had to rebuild his baby from the ground up, but that didn't mean they stayed where they were supposed to.

The featherhead had even had the gall to suggest that Dean might want to consider a more family-friendly car in the future. He might have acknowledged that the sneaky bastard had made sure he wouldn't part with Johnny, but he'd be damned, again, before he used a minivan as anything but temporary transportation.

He and Sam had survived just fine in the Impala, and so would Johnny. He'd learn to love Dean's baby just as much as Dean did.

He looked down at Johnny, who was busy drinking away.

"I think you'll like her," he told the baby, not entirely sure why he was talking to him like this, especially in such a public place. It just seemed right. He'd been relying on instinct from the moment Cas showed him that momentary flash of Johnny's soul. If the boy had been older, he might have been more at ease, but he'd been five when Sam had been this age and still mourning his mother, so he had no practical experience with a child this young.

"My dad, the guy Cas named you after, he bought the car after I insisted it was a classic." Dean saw the boy's green eyes were focused on him intently. "Technically, I wasn't even born when he bought it, but that's one of a lot of things you'll have to have explained to you if you're going to be a permanent fixture of this family."

He sighed. Speaking of family, he was going to have a very awkward phone call to his brother and Bobby tonight, and he really wasn't looking forward to it. Though he could blame the initial stupidity on Cas, he was certain he'd be called an idjit, possibly much worse for agreeing to Cas's ridiculous plan.

He glanced up again at the angel, who was busy retrieving the credit card from Dean's wallet. He wasn't sure what was going on with him lately. This was considerably better than the events of the previous year, with Crowley and Purgatory, but it was still so out of character for Cas. And while Cas had apologized for everything he had done in that year and was still trying to atone for it, he still argued quite fiercely that he didn't regret trying to do something to stop Raphael.

To some extent, Dean could understand. After all they had done to ensure the apocalypse didn't happen, for the sacrifice that Sam had made to end it, of course no one wanted it to get restarted. What Dean just couldn't understand was why Cas had been so blind to other solutions, why he hadn't at least asked for Dean's help. Had he really thought that because he was with Lisa he wouldn't do everything in his power to help his friend, to do the job that came most naturally to him?

He had asked the angel a few times now, and he still had not gotten a straight answer. There was no denying that something had made Cas react out of pure emotion and instinct, and Dean couldn't begin to comprehend the cause. All he had learned was that Cas was still too new to the emotion game to have perspective on how to react to them. He was, thankfully, getting better.

"Do we want cash back?" Cas yelled to him from the cash register. Dean wondered what his friend would have done if he hadn't already been looking in the angel's question. Dean thought it was likely that Cas would have called out his name to get his attention and sort of ruined the opportunity to use the credit card of Mr. Wallace Strozokowski.

Dean shook his head and watched Cas pondering over the credit card reader like he'd just stumbled across an ancient artifact, and it happened to be covered in a language of which he had only the most rudimentary knowledge. Still, he plodded on and looked to be successful, if his somewhat proud expression a moment later was anything to go by.

He had to give the angel credit. He was at least getting more accustomed to technology and had become fairly proficient in using a cell phone when necessary. Dean had been quite proud when the angel successfully sent a photo of a shapeshifter last month. Though, no matter how many times he tried, he wasn't allowed to change his voicemail. Sam and Dean had both recorded that awkward thing and promptly replaced Cas's voicemail message with it every time he tried to update it more appropriately.

Dean heard slurping sounds coming from the baby and realized that the bottle was empty. They might need to give him more once they got to the hotel. The bottle Cas had taken from Johnny's mom had been on the small side, but with any luck, it would tide them over to the hotel

He pulled the bottle from Johnny's mouth and propped him up on his shoulder. Though he and his instinct had been getting along swimmingly with the kid over the last few hours, instinct was abandoning him now. Did he rub the kid's back, pat it? Do it softly or firmly? He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing at that moment, though he was suddenly having completely unhelpful flashbacks of trying to pat his head and rub his stomach as a kid.

He finally got the noise he was looking for just as Cas was approaching with the cart full of baby supplies. "I will find a way to earn money," the angel said, looking apologetic. "I did not realize that something so small was so expensive, and I will not leave it up to you to shoulder the entire burden."

"We'll work out the child support payments later," Dean said as they walked out of the store together, Johnny watching the outside world with hungry, eager eyes.


	4. Oh Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby and Sam learn of the addition to the family

Chapter 4

Oh Brother

 

_"Family love is messy, clinging, and of an annoying and repetitive pattern, like bad wallpaper."_

_P.J. O'Rourke, American Satirist._

 

Sam collapsed on the motel bed after a rough salt and burn. Or rather letting Bobby salt and burn while an angry poltergeist proceeded to try to choke the life out of Sam. When a ghost got angry, it seemed there were always two options to how it would retaliate. Either it would throw someone against a solid object or it would attempt to strangle the life out of the offender. Both hurt and both generally required recovery time, if Cas wasn't nearby to patch the injured hunter up.

 

Honestly, Sam could take the throwing. It was the strangulation that troubled him. He'd once looked up the odds of death after a strangulation and the amount of pressure necessary to kill someone. It was easier to die that way than he would have thought. At the time, he thought it was useful information to have, considering how often it happened to him and to Dean; he thought it might ease his mind. It really wasn't and it really, really didn't.

 

His voice was going to be raspy for at least the next day, and his neck and throat were going to kill him for at least a week without angelic intervention. Still, he had survived and Bobby hadn't been harmed at all. That was really all that mattered.

 

Though the older hunter swore he was over it, Sam still hadn't come to grips with what he had done over a year ago. He still felt an overwhelming need to prove to Bobby that he wasn't that soulless monster, and the only way he knew to do that was to keep his adoptive father safe. Bobby sure as hell wouldn't talk about it out of fear it would destroy the wall in Sam's head. Sam, likewise, wasn't likely to talk about it, either. He couldn't very well admit that the story Dean had unintentionally let slip now had actual memories to accompany it.

 

"I wonder how the other two idjits are handling themselves in Minnesota," Bobby said as he tossed his duffel bag onto the bed." He sat at the edge and seemed to be observing him closely. "How's the throat?"

 

"It'll be fine in a couple days," Sam said, noting the gravelly tone to his voice. "But I'm hoping Dean and Cas have gotten things settled so that I can give it a rest."

 

Bobby nodded and proceeded to check through his bag for his cell phone while Sam just stared at the ceiling. He wondered if he would be getting any sleep tonight. The last few had been fairly restless, and he knew that Bobby had noticed. The nightmares he'd had were horrific, but he could never remember specifics, only the general emotion behind them. All he ever remembered when he woke up was the fear and feeling as though he had just run a marathon.

 

"Hey, Dean." Bobby tossed his hat on the nearby chair and began untying his boots. "Yeah, we got him. Strong ghost, but we finished the salt and burn before any real damage could happen. ... Sam's fine. I'm going to put you on speaker phone. Probably easier than having this phone call twice."

 

The older hunter quickly switched the phone over so that Dean's tinny voice came out of the cheap phone's small speakers mid-sentence. "... for the best. There's a lot to tell, and we're probably going to need your help."

 

"So what are we dealing with, another sleeper cell?" Bobby asked. They had suspected that was what they would encounter, but the poltergeist had been getting particularly violent as well, and when you have an angry, vicious ghost trapped in the hallway of a high school, it isn't really something that can take the back seat to another hunt. It was why the four had decided to split up a few days ago.

 

"Yeah. And we only have one potential lead back to the rest of the pack. One of the victims' wives had the shifter put down and immediately cremated. She wasn't telling the whole story, either, though I couldn't get out of her just  _what_ she'd done to the skinwalker before putting it down. Either way, she apparently didn't take too kindly to having her husband killed by their pet," Dean replied. "We're still looking for the Pomeranian that chewed through the other victim."

 

"A Pomeranian?" Bobby asked, incredulously. Even Sam was having difficulty picturing a dog that size ripping out a woman's heart. It didn't even matter that he knew this dog actually a monster. It was still a ridiculous image.

 

"A larger one, but yeah," Dean said. "Once we can find it, we should be able to trace it back to the rest, but considering the last pack we came across had twenty of these things... Cas and I might not be able to go this one alone. Especially now."

 

"'Especially now?' What happened?" Sam asked, sitting upright in the bed. "What is it, Dean?"

 

"Sammy," Dean said. "Dude, your voice sounds messed up. What happened?"

 

"The usual. Ghost went for the neck." Sam shifted on the bed closer to Bobby's and the phone. "What is up? Something happen to you or Cas?"

 

"We're fine. Don't get your panties in a bunch, Samantha," Dean's voice said across the speaker. "Cas is healthy, I'm healthy. We're good."

 

"But..." Bobby said with that look on his face that said he was obviously waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sam was certain he wore a matching expression on his own.

 

"But... You know this new impulsive tendency of Cas's?" Dean was asking. Sam recognized the tone instantly from their childhood. This was how Dean had always asked for his father's forgiveness for something stupid he'd gone ahead and done because he wouldn't be able to get permission. If it wasn't  _too_ stupid, the forgiveness came easily.

 

"You mean when he decides he wants to save the world from the apocalypse only to rip a hole in Purgatory."

 

"Yeah. Like that."

 

"I resent the implication that this is somehow similar to my actions last year," Cas's voice said from somewhere in the background.

 

"It's just about as irrational," Dean's voice came as though directed away from the phone and at the angel.

 

"What did he do?" Bobby asked, sharing a cautious look with Sam. The fact that Cas wasn't angry or spouting off heavenly edicts was something in their favor, so perhaps he hadn't decided to go God on them again.

 

"Don't panic, Bobby. By our standards, this whole situation is really damned weird, but for normal people, it's just weird. And illegal."

 

"The forms have all been changed," Cas's voice came again. "So no court will find anything illegal about it."

 

"Just because the forms are changed and you messed with the mother's memory doesn't mean anything."

 

"The Mother," both Bobby and Sam replied in near unison. She should have been dead. Burnt up by phoenix ashes.

 

"Not  _The Mother_ . A mother. The kid's mother... Cas decided to make me a daddy."

 

"Make you 'a daddy?'" Bobby asked with a frown. "This isn't anything like in St.--"

 

"No," Dean snapped. "This is nothing like St. Augustine." Both Bobby and Sam were chuckling just at the memory of it. It had been the hunters' first encounter with a pooka, so their knowledge of them was incredibly limited, outside of the basic mythology and a classic movie about an invisible rabbit. At least some of their information had been spot on, which had told them the creatures were like benign tricksters.

 

Apparently, the pooka need to use people as incubators for the first week or so of gestation, and they choose that host for his or her mischievous characteristics. Sam and Dean encountered the pooka, who had been disguised as a teenaged boy manning the front desk at the hotel where they'd been working a poltergeist case. The pooka had witnessed about a week's worth of prank wars between the brothers and decided Dean the winner, thus making him the perfect temporary host for the pooka's offspring.

 

According to the pooka, most people who encounter them never even notice anything has happened before the pooka uses its magic to transfer the baby back. Unfortunately, Sam and Dean had left town a few days after Dean's encounter with the creature, and the pooka hadn't been able to find them right away. Dean, in his usual stroke of luck, got to experience about five months of pregnancy in the course of three weeks. It included everything from swollen ankles to food cravings to mood swings. Cas had spent the largest part of that time hunting the pooka and once he had found it, he had mojoed the Celtic creature to Bobby's home to fix the problem. There had been much apologizing on the pooka's part, and the thing had given Dean a ton of prank ideas to play on Sam--who suspected his brother still hadn't used them all--as part of its apologies.

 

"The two of you can stop laughing any time now. I could have died if Cas hadn't found that thing."

 

"But he did," Sam said, still laughing, despite his raspy voice. "And you lived, so it's funny."

 

"Still can't believe you got yourself knocked up by Harvey," Bobby said. "Now seriously, what is this about Cas making you a daddy?"

 

And then Dean started to explain. While Sam could imagine the angel reacting drastically to the sight of the baby's mistreatment and perhaps not thinking of the normal solutions available, he had a bit more trouble understanding why his brother hadn't argued or begun the process of sending the baby to an appropriate home.

 

"And you're keeping the kid?" Bobby asked slowly and with much confusion in his voice. Sam was glad that the man was able to ask the questions that Sam, himself, wanted answers to because his throat was in no shape to carry on this full conversation alone.

 

"Look, I can't begin to explain it all to where it will make sense," Dean's voice said. "I just know I have to, Bobby. You can't tell me your life wouldn't have been simpler if you'd have just cut off contact with Sam and me." Sam gave an apologetic smile to Bobby, though he wasn't sure whether it was for all the problems he and his brother had caused or for his brother's implication that Bobby might have been willing to drop them completely.

 

"You're a manipulative little bastard, but you've got a point," Bobby said. "We'll meet up with you two in Minnesota. Tell Cas not to do us any favors of popping us over. I'd rather sit through a fourteen hour drive than not be able to use the crapper for a week."

 

#

 

Thanks to Bobby eating a bad truckstop burger, the fourteen hour drive was nearly sixteen. The older hunter was reclined back as far as the passenger seat would let him go and groaning every time they hit a bump. "Bet not using the crapper for a week is sounding pretty good about now," Sam said with a smug grin.

 

"I refused to eat that rabbit food you had on your plate," Bobby replied before following it with another groan. Sam knew well enough that the older hunter was more than willing to eat a salad if it included some kind of meat, preferably one that had been previously deep fried before placed atop a bed of lettuce and covered in plenty of dressing

 

"That 'rabbit food' doesn't have me hitting up every pit stop along the way for a bathroom," Sam said as he saw the welcome sign for the town where Dean and Cas were. "We'll see if Cas will take pity on you and mojo the E. coli and salmonella right out of you."

 

Bobby's only reply was a groan.

 

Sam pulled into the parking lot of the Blue Moon Hotel, wondering just how hideous the hotel room was going to be in this particular dive. Dean had a fascination for the most out-of-date, ugly hotel rooms known to man, and he didn't doubt this was going to be just as bad. The hotel seemed to take its name quite seriously. Every bit of decor was either dark blue or turquoise and/or shaped like a crescent moon. The only thing that kept the hotel from being absolutely sickening was that the building itself was covered in white siding.

 

He pulled into the lot marked by a crescent moon-shaped sign that read "Blue Moon Guests Only." It was easy enough to spot the hulking black vehicle that Dean loved--and Sam did, too, in his own way--so much. Its well-maintained paint job reflected the lights that illuminated the lot, and the sight of it still gave that familiar tug of home. That Dean had kept so much of it the same from their childhood ensured that it always evoked that feeling in the younger brother.

 

He parked Bobby's van beside the Impala and got out, walking around to the other side in case Bobby needed his help. He passed the Impala as he made his way to the opening passenger door. "Wow," he said as he looked in the back of Dean's baby.

 

"What?" Bobby asked as he slowly slide out of the seat and placed his feet on the chipping asphalt.

 

"Sun shields and a carseat in the Impala," Sam said.

 

"Wow," Bobby said, unintentionally mimicking Sam. "The idjit is serious."

 

"Seems that way," Sam said as he shook his head. This had to be one of his brother's dumber ideas. After everything from the year before, when he had gone so far as to even wipe Lisa and Ben's memories of him so they could be safe, Dean was going to take on a child? A baby no less?

 

A few years ago, Sam might have been concerned about their roles as hunters or Dean's own inferiority complex as potential hurdles for his brother being a father, but he'd never have questioned Dean's ability to raise a child. He'd cared for Sam, hadn't he? But lately, his brother had been drinking. A lot. He hadn't fully coped with Cas's working with Crowley, and he seemed to be dreaming of hell once again.

 

Though he loved and respected his own father, Sam wouldn't wish for someone to be raised by an alcoholic, even as high-functioning as both John and Dean were. Certainly not when that alcoholic worked in the field they did. Then again, he thought as he looked at the man leaning against the van and still looking green around the gils, some functioning alcoholics weren't so bad.

 

Sam took hold of Bobby's arm as they moved toward the hotel room's door. "You going to be OK?" he asked. He wished Bobby had just let him call Cas earlier, but the older hunter kept insisting this would pass.

 

"I've got five steps until we reach Cas. I think I can manage somehow," Bobby said with plenty of snark.

 

Before Sam could knock on the door, it opened with Cas on the other side. He was still clad in his usual trench coat and suit; Sam wasn't sure why he had expected that to change. It wasn't as though Sam had been anticipating pearls and an apron, but he'd thought that at least he'd maybe be down to just the dress shirt. Though Cas was usually so unflappable, Sam had still expected to see some parental change in the angel, which may have been asking for too much from someone who still had difficulty with some of the most basic of human interactions.

 

"They just got to sleep," he said in a quiet voice. He looked at Bobby and without a word, pressed two fingers to the hunter's forehead.

 

"Oh thank God," Bobby said as his posture straightened.

 

"I took the liberty of getting a separate room so you wouldn't be disturbed by Johnny's crying," Cas said, holding out a set of keys with a plastic crescent moon keychain. Sam thought for a moment that the angel was going to toss them out, but he stepped aside instead. "I assume you want to at least see Johnny before you go to your room."

 

Sam nodded, as did Bobby, before entering the hotel room. There was very little light, only what the curtains allowed in from an awkwardly angled light in the parking lot. Sam could see his brother was curled on his side under the covers of his bed, wrapped protectively around something. The ever-familiar bottle of liquor was sitting on the bedside table, but as Sam stepped further into the room, he noticed that the bottle was still full, probably even sealed.

 

With a cursory glance at the trashcan, Sam noted there weren't any empties in it, either.

 

If Dean was managing to get a restful night's sleep without the help of his alcohol because of Johnny, Sam was more than ready to become an uncle.

 

Bobby was already at the crib, but looking elsewhere for the baby. Sam didn't have to bother. He knew that it was Johnny that Dean was cradling in his sleep. A step further into the room revealed exactly that. Pressed tightly to his brother's side was a baby that looked to be about 9 or 10 months old. Both Dean and the baby were sound asleep, and Johnny's hand was grasping at Dean's T-shirt tightly.

 

Sam was already aware of Johnny's left arm, but the baby was sleeping on it so that he couldn't get a clear view of it. He had half-hoped that he might get over any initial shock before his brother would be awake to see his reaction if he had one. He would just have to be a little less readable when tomorrow morning rolled around.

 

With a shared glance between them, Sam and Bobby agreed to head to their hotel room and settle in for the night after a very long, very tiring ride. Tomorrow they would worry about babies and skinwalkers. Only one very brief conversation was exchanged between them after Cas shut the door to Dean's room behind them and before they settled in for the night.

 

"I don't care how this all came about. If he's the cause of what I just saw, Johnny is staying."

 

"Yep," was all Bobby answered.


	5. Mornings with Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby, the Winchesters and their angel spend the morning getting to know Johnny and preparing for their hunt.

Chapter 5

Mornings with Dad

 

_"Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own; and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress."_

_Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby_

 

Bobby was up earlier than Sam thanks to the fact he didn't have the bladder of a 29-year-old, so while Sam slept, he went about his morning routine. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that in the room next door, Dean was probably just getting ready to start the morning with his  _son_ .

 

He wondered if Dean was going to try to set down roots with a house and all, or if he'd keep the kid on the road all of the time--he hoped not. Whatever was done, Bobby wanted to make sure that Johnny was kept close to his new father. For probably the first time since Dean came back from Hell and almost certainly the first since Sam returned from the Cage, it looked as though he hadn't needed alcohol to get a peaceful-looking sleep. That fact hadn't been improved when something had gone wrong with a hunt a few months back, something Dean tried in pure Winchester fashion to pretend hadn't happened.

 

Cas had been crazy to take the kid, but maybe just this once the ends justified the means.

 

It seemed that Castiel had managed to think this all through after the fact, even if the initial decision had been a hasty one, to put it mildly. Bobby had done some checking on Sam's computer and he'd found that nearly all of the documentation he could round up online named Johnny as Dean's son. The angel had even arranged a false court order granting Dean custody. Legally, there was no denying they were in the free and clear. He just didn't think Dean was quite up to handling parenthood alone, or with an angel who was still confounded by the simplest of human behavior.

 

Maybe the boys would feel up to a little cleaning/baby-proofing at his place. It would be easier than Dean trying to pay for an apartment or pay rent, and it would keep the boys close enough that Bobby could help out, either with Johnny or with something supernatural. They were practically living with him anyway. It was just going to take some work--OK, a lot of work--to get his house in order for a baby.

 

When Bobby came back out, he saw Sam had slid down on the bed so that his feet were now sticking out from the blankets and hanging over the edge. There were some downsides to being a Sasquatch, he supposed. Especially in a hotel that only offered doubles and no queens. Sam's sleep didn't seem nearly as peaceful as Dean's; it hadn't for much of their trip. Nightmares were a hunter's constant companion, but he still worried whenever he realized either of the boys were having them. The kinds of things that haunted those boys nightmares would make the average hunter piss himself--would make Bobby piss himself.

 

Most of all, he didn't know if these nightmares were indications of Sam's wall crumbling down. The boy couldn't afford to have those memories return. Bobby had cornered Cas and asked him what they could expect if the wall crumbled. The angel had been incredibly reluctant, more than Bobby had ever seen, and they had just gone through the whole thing with Crowley. Cas had told him that they could expect Michael would have done a great deal of physical damage and pain, but Lucifer would have done everything in his power to break Sam mentally, and there would probably be very little that was off limits from the former archangel when it came to making Sam pay. Bobby had never been accused of having an exceptionally active imagination, but at that moment, it could have been a little lazier.

 

He could guess Lucifer was probably more inventive than a grizzled old hunter and he prayed Sam never remembered.

 

A snore from the bed thankfully interrupted his thoughts. Bobby tapped Sam's bare feet. "Up and at 'em Sammy," he said, watching as Sam quickly tucked his feet beneath the blankets and used them to push himself into a sitting position. He gave a large yawn and stretched those long limbs. It was remarkable how Bobby could simultaneously take note of how damned big the boy was and think he seemed so incredibly young. He really did look like a hugely overgrown kid when he wasn't startled awake.

 

Blinking blearily at Bobby, he ran a hand through his hair and muttered, "G'morning."

 

"Sleep well?" he asked.

 

"I'd sleep better on a queen," Sam said as he made his way to the bathroom. "You?"

 

"Just peachy," Bobby said before the door shut and he heard the sounds of the shower turning on. He yelled over the sounds of the spray. "I'm going to go over and check on your brother and Cas."

 

"I'll be over once I finish," the reply came back.

 

Bobby left the key to the hotel on the table by the door, figuring Sam could lock it up once he left and headed to the next room over. He knocked and waited. This time, it was Dean who answered, looking surprisingly well rested and happy for a man who had been forced to contend with a baby. "Morning," he said as he stepped aside to let Bobby come in.

 

Cas was bent over the bed, apparently changing Johnny's diaper. "So not fair that you can just poof the things away," Dean muttered to the angel, who offered an odd quirk of the lips in return. A new diaper was on, and Cas looked ready to start dressing the baby, but Dean stopped him. "Wait. Gotta show Bobby these."

 

Dean picked Johnny up and placed the kid's backside way too close to Bobby's face for comfort. "Look at these things. Cool, right?" Bobby realized that Dean was talking about the denim-looking diapers, but he took a moment to get a look at Johnny's arm. That was going to be rough, and it was certainly going to make the elder Winchester a protective bastard if he was dead set on raising the kid.

 

"Jean diapers. What will they think of next?" he said dryly.

 

"I know, right?" Dean said, either missing or ignoring Bobby's sarcasm. The younger hunter turned Johnny around in his arms so that Bobby could meet him properly this time. "Okay, Johnny. This guy here with the fuzzy face and hat. That's your grandpa." The baby's green eyes--different from Dean's, but sure as hell making him look like he might actually have  _been_ Dean's--looked at Bobby curiously. The grizzled hunter was softened more than a bit by the mention of the word "grandpa."

 

It certainly wasn't a name he'd expected to ever earn in his lifetime, even when he started including the boys as his own.

 

"He is going to get cold if you leave him in just the diaper," Cas nagged from the bed. This was becoming disturbingly domestic. Dean brought Johnny back over to the angel, who began to dress him in a t-shirt that looked like it had the Impala emblazoned across the front. Dean was quick to help with a pair of actual jeans, followed by socks and tennis shoes. The two had made such quick work of dressing the 10-month-old that it looked like they had been doing it for a hell of a lot longer than a day and a half.

 

Dean took a seat on one of the beds and held Johnny under his arms so the baby could bounce between his father's knees. It should have been odd that Bobby's mind immediately supplied that Dean was the kid's dad, but it wasn't. No more than it was obvious that something about Johnny had struck a cord with Cas as well. The angel was watching Dean and the baby in a way that nearly made Bobby forget that he was a powerful creature capable of killing them all with a single use of his angel mojo.

 

"We've been posing as FBI agents," Dean said, "but since we're dealing with rogue animals, and one got caught in the act, maybe CDC would make more sense for you and Sam."

 

"I'm guessing one of you will stay here with the kid in the meantime?"

 

"I will be remaining with Johnny," Cas said, his eyes never leaving father and son. He took a seat on the bed beside them and wrapped his own larger hand around Johnny's when the baby reached for him. "I do not have Dean's people skills."

 

"You don't have people skills at all," Dean said with a grin. "You just have people who tolerate the fact that you're odd." He passed Johnny over to Cas, and the baby happily pressed his cheek against Cas's hand that was holding his.

 

Bobby couldn't help but feel like he was intruding on something very private. The way both Cas and Dean doted on this boy, the way Cas was looking at the hunter and the baby, the older hunter felt as though something in the world was taking a huge shift, and it was in one of the few parts of life that he felt had some consistency.

 

The elder Winchester and the angel had always had an unusual relationship, one that involved an abnormal amount of staring and invasions of privacy and personal space. Cas knew Dean better than perhaps even Sam, though he understood him far less. Despite having such an intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Dean's head, Cas still looked clueless more often than not at the things Dean did or said.

 

Right now, however, the two seemed to be in near-perfect harmony, and Bobby was left feeling fairly unnecessary. Thankfully, he didn't have to feel like a third wheel for long, as there was a knock on the door.

 

Not wanting to interrupt the surreal parental moment between the baby and the two on the bed, Bobby stood and walked the short distance to answer the door. He knew it would be Sam on the other side, and he wondered, given the fact that he was usually the most perceptive of the bunch--excluding Bobby himself--what Sam would think of this unusual turn of events between the hunter and his angel. Sam seemed to be welcoming enough about the baby, given the affect he seemed to be having on Dean, but the change between Dean and Cas, that could be a different story.

 

Sam was all smiles as the door opened, and Bobby could sense that some of that happiness was forced. He was trying very hard to be supportive about Johnny, and Bobby thought he might have to tell the younger Winchester to tone it down a bit. Dean didn't seem to notice, though, as he beamed up at his brother, then looked expectantly at Johnny. Bobby's own eyes turned down as well, curious to see what Johnny's reaction to the giant would be.

 

The baby was cautious, even looked a bit frightened, which wasn't so surprising, given the kid's past and the fact that Sam was huge by even adult standards.

 

Once again, Sam's superior observational skills--at least when it came to all things emotional; Dean typically had the better observational skills only when it applied to a hunt--kicked in. The moment Bobby had the door shut, the younger brother knelt on the carpet as low as he could get so that he didn't frighten the little boy. He inched over toward the boy and wore a much more natural, if somewhat soppy, grin.

 

Emerald green eyes looked between the angel and Dean to see if this was safe. It was clear that already Johnny associated all things safe with Dean and Cas. His right hand was firmly gripping Cas's trench coat. His other arm was seeking reassurance from Dean. Dean took the small arm in his hand and spoke softly to Johnny. "That's your Uncle Sammy, kid. He's a gigantor, but he won't hurt you."

 

Bobby watched as Sam began to make a complete moron out of himself, twisting his face in numerous ways at the boy before he finally got a grin, then a belly laugh for his efforts. The proud grin that spread across Dean's face reminded Bobby so strongly of John that it was almost startling. Most people assumed Dean looked more like his mother because of his complexion and his lighter hair and eyes, but in that moment, he was all John.

 

His attention was turned to Cas, who wore a small but rather pleased smile of his own.

 

"Well, look at that. First person to make the kid laugh," Dean said.

 

Johnny let go of Cas's hand to reach for Sam's face. It was pretty clear he wanted to touch him, but he still looked hesitant. Thankfully, the younger Winchester solved the problem for him. One very large hand took the tiny one and laid it flat against his stubbly cheek. There was no denying how much the kid had been deprived, not when Bobby saw the look of unadulterated joy the child took in just being able to touch another human being. It was no wonder Cas had decided to kidnap him, for lack of a better or more appropriate phrase.

 

While the others were entertained, Bobby took note of the state of the room. It was kept far cleaner than he'd ever seen the boys' hotel rooms before. Nothing was scattered about, the weapons were stowed away atop the kitchenette counter, out of Johnny's reach. The bottle of cheap whiskey on the bedside table was still full and unopened, and Dean looked as though a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, despite the fact that many others would have viewed the addition of a child as just the opposite.

 

Bobby hadn't bonded to the baby yet, but he could guess that it wouldn't take him long to do it. Still, the hunter in him couldn't help but be suspicious about this entire situation. He was going to talk to Feathers about it at the first chance he got, just to be sure that everything with his boy was on the up and up.

 

#

 

"We should have listened to the young woman at Wal-Mart," Castiel said as he glared at the waitress's retreating back. "These women are behaving antagonistically toward us merely because we brought a child into the diner."

 

"Her name was Emma," Dean said as he opened a tiny jar of baby food. "We should call her." He gave a conspiratory look at Sam. "That girl was hot. She had on this little black T-shirt with a big pink heart right here." He gestured to his own T-shirt with his free hand to indicate where the heart had been. "She had to be, what, about 22, 23? Blonde. Gorgeous."

 

"Have we decided if she was flirting with you or with me?" Castiel asked as he toyed with his cup of coffee. He hadn't figured out how to drink the dark liquid with the same enjoyment that Dean always expressed with his morning "cup of joe." He had remembered to ask for sugar and cream this time and hoped that some combination of the two would ease the bitter flavor.

 

" _I've_ decided she was flirting with me." Dean dipped the small spoon into the jar of food and extended it to Johnny. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking a lot like a guppy, to imitate what he wanted Johnny to do. So far, it wasn't having much effect.

 

"Yeah. Because that's sexy right there," Sam said.

 

Dean didn't bother to look at his brother as he gave him the middle finger, but he did have enough sense to do it out of Johnny's line of sight so the angel felt no need to correct him for it. Castiel thought that with the sort of luck that Dean had, if there was something that the child would learn at the table that morning, it would probably be something they didn't want him to.

 

"Look, watch me," Dean said, taking a bite of the food. It was fairly obvious he was preparing for it to taste terrible, but apparently, mashed bananas were not as disgusting as he expected they would be. "Mmm... it's good kid. I'll steal it if you don't try some." Dean repeated the earlier performance of trying to get Johnny to eat.

 

"Does anyone else feel like they've entered an alternate universe?" Sam asked.

 

"We've been there, done that. And this definitely isn't it. Cas is still learning how to use a basic cell phone, let alone being some Twitter addict. Or calling himself Misha," Dean chirped back as Johnny finally opened his mouth for the spoon. "Yes!" Dean said, then quickly looked defeated as he watched as it was spit out down the baby's chin.

 

"Twitter?" Cas asked with a tilt of his head. "Misha?"

 

"I'll explain it to you later," Dean said as he resumed his efforts to get the bananas in Johnny's mouth to stay there.

 

"So this woman ... You're really thinking of hitting on someone who's about ten years younger than you?" Sam asked. "Cradle robber."

 

"See, that's the difference between me and you, Sammy. I am age blind. I don't discriminate, unlike some people." Dean tried again with the food, with much the same success.

 

"Allow me to try," Castiel finally said. "I have only coffee, and I have no preference for it hot or cold."

 

Dean handed off the jar and the spoon to the angel and began eating his breakfast, which consisted of an artery-clogging six strips of bacon, fried hashbrowns, two eggs over easy and two slices of toast. Castiel made a mental note to clean out the hunter's arteries the next time he had to heal him. His attention turned to Johnny, who also needed to eat. He was no good at making faces or encouraging him to eat a substance that looked to be about the consistency of ectoplasm if a very different color, and the number of times the baby spat the food back out in a dribble seemed to prove his ineptitude in this particular situation well enough.

 

An elderly woman who had watched both Castiel and Dean's unsuccessful attempts to get Johnny to eat placed her hand on the angel's shoulder as she passed by the table. "Have you tried rice cereal with him yet?" Cas shook his head, as did Dean. "Start with that, dear. Mix it with the formula, and he'll have a more familiar taste with the odd texture."

 

Castiel thanked her, but her advice served as a reminder that he really didn't know what he was doing with this baby, and it made him question if bringing Johnny to be raised by four men--or three and an angel--who had no clue about babies was the wisest decision. It was probably something he should have considered before, but he had been acting out of instinct and indignation.

 

There had been only a few scenarios in his life where he acted merely on the sense that he was doing the right thing. He had almost always had orders from his father, and even without those, he had always rationalized, made decisions based upon what he thought was right, based upon the possible outcomes. He could count on one hand when he had acted rashly. One had been rebelling against heaven to stop the apocalypse and keep Dean safe. He had done the same in preventing Raphael from starting it up again--even if he now realized he should have looked at other options and contacted his friend to seek them out.

 

The fact that both of those other scenarios revolved around Dean Winchester didn't escape his notice. He merely tried not to dwell on it.

 

Bringing Johnny to Dean and giving them both the family Castiel knew his friend wanted had seemed a natural choice, but he hadn't counted on all of them knowing so little. Yet, even with this doubts, he needed only to look at the hunter's soul to know that the baby's presence had already made efforts to improve it. The darker shades were just a bit brighter and the aura of sadness and guilt was soothed, though still there.

 

"Cas..." Dean said, snapping in front of the angel's face. Apparently, he'd been trying to get his attention for some time. Blue eyes focused on Dean. "Usually when you go somewhere else, you poof away."

 

"I didn't go anywh... Oh, you mean in my thoughts. I apologize."

 

"No problem," Dean said as he bit off a piece of bacon. "I was just saying if you were going to have the kid today, you should probably dress more like a dad and less like an accountant." Cas looked down at the clothes he had been wearing from Jimmy since the very beginning. He had become quite comfortable in the coat and suit. "Johnny's not going to be entertained at the hotel for long, so you might want to go to the park or something."

 

"Right, and you have already expressed your opinion that the way I dress might make parents uncomfortable." Mainly because Dean seemed to be under the belief that Cas's clothing was the uniform of the pedophile. "But I have no other clothes." The angel offered a bottle to Johnny since he didn't seem to appreciate the bananas.

 

"I've got you covered," Dean assured him before he finished the rest of his breakfast. Bobby and Sam were slower to finish, and Castiel still had more than half a cup of milky coffee left behind. He just wasn't able to palate the rest of the mug.

 

Dean left only the bare minimum of a tip for the waitress, and much to Castiel's surprise, it was Sam who began unfastening the high chair. The tall man looked incredibly hopeful, and the angel realized that he was waiting for Johnny to reach for him.

 

"He is cautious with new people," the angel said, "but if you initiate contact, he will accept it. He obviously likes you already."

 

"Accept it?" Dean said as he ruffled the reddish blond hair. "The poor kid craves it. I am glad that I don't know where his mother lives. No one could hold me responsible for my actions." The hunter earned himself a broad grin from Johnny.

 

Sam took that as a signal to pick the baby up and allow Johnny a second to get accustomed to this new person and the height. It didn't take long, and just as he had for his surrogate parents, he immediately curled against Sam's chest and smiled. They didn't want to overstimulate him, having gone for far too long without any contact, but Castiel assumed that the baby would let them know when it became too much.

 

The five left the diner, and skills honed from years of being a warrior were telling Castiel that Bobby was going to be cornering him very soon, most likely about Johnny. The man was very protective of the Winchesters, particularly Dean. Castiel didn't doubt he would be talking to Bobby about this sudden move toward parenthood, and why Dean had adapted to fatherhood so quickly--something Castiel could really only guess at, himself. He had never shown a human a soul before, but he had his theories as to why they had bonded so swiftly.

 

"Time to suit up," Dean said as he headed for their hotel room, and he looked at Castiel with a cheeky grin. "And for you to suit down."

 

Sam handed Johnny over to the angel, so that he could get into his hotel room and into his own suit

 

Dean was quick to walk over to the duffel bag of his clothes and pull out a pair of track pants and a white T-shirt. "These should work." He tossed them onto the other bed and began stripping himself of his own T-shirt and jeans. Castiel set Johnny on the floor so that he could slowly follow suit.

 

It was very odd to remove the trench coat and suit. They had become like his armor over the years, and he found it more difficult than he had expected he would as he stripped first the coat, then the suit jacket and tie.

 

He was in the process of unbuttoning the white dress shirt when he noticed that Dean, who was down to just his boxers, was looking at him strangely. "What?"

 

With raised eyebrows and a casual frown, Dean muttered, "Nothing. I've just never seen you without the full get-up. Kind of weird."

 

Castiel didn't offer any sort of reply. He wasn't sure there was one. All he could do was continue the stripping of his armor and keep an eye on Johnny, who was busy trying to figure out a way to move around on the carpeted floor. The boy would probably have to improvise a way of crawling that worked for him but considering how well he handled his bottle, Castiel had little doubt the child would manage something.

 

After he finished with the pants and shoes, he managed to catch a glimpse of himself in the hotel mirror. He didn't like this at all. Without all of those layers, his vessel's body was thin, small. He had to admit that Jimmy's body was not necessarily weak, but it was such a startling contrast from his own true form that he found it unsettling. It was different even from Sam or Dean's bodies, which were thicker and more visually intimidating. In this form, a casual observer might only give Castiel the benefit of calling him "wiry," never anticipating that he was quicker and stronger than one might imagine.

 

Still, it was strange, to see the way the white tank clung to a narrow body, to know that for all his angelic power, Dean looked like the stronger of the two of them.

 

"You going to stare at yourself all day, or actually get dressed?" the hunter's voice chimed in from the other part of the room, where he was busy buttoning up his own white dress shirt.

 

Again, Castiel said nothing. He merely grabbed the white t-shirt and pulled it on. It was a size too big, and looked baggy in the mirror. The track pants were next, and the angel found he had to hold them up so that they would stay on his hips. "This is not going to work well while entertaining a child."

 

Dean was clad in the white dress shirt and black pants as he approached. Castiel tried not to jump back as the hunter's hand unceremoniously reached into the angel's pants without warning. He suddenly had an clear understanding of why the hunter so valued his personal space. Its violation made for an unusual heat that pooled in his stomach and cheeks and did strange things to his heart rate.

 

Hands pulled at a white drawstring until the pants were now snug on Castiel's narrower body. "There you go," Dean said as he knotted the drawstring. The hunter grabbed for his tie and began putting it on, but looked at Castiel the entire time that he did. "A little freaky seeing you in my clothes."

 

"It feels no less unusual being the one in them," he said. "I assure you."

 

Dean shrugged before he pulled his suit coat over his shoulders. Castiel was left wondering why he was still feeling somewhat flushed and unsettled. Perhaps this was why Dean always made such requests about his invisible bubble of personal space.

 

The angel turned his attention back to Johnny who was trying to push himself around on the floor with his feet, but finding that was taking him nowhere. He was in the about to pick up the baby when there was the sound of a knock at the door. He didn't have to wager much of a guess that it was Bobby, and as soon as he'd managed to convince Dean to leave, Castiel knew he would be in for a long talk.

 

#

 

"You're sure you'll be fine with her?" Emma asked her mother. "Maybe bring her by the shop later. I've only had her a few days, and I know you're supposed to take time to acclimatize a new dog to you and your house." Emma might have read a few too many books and watched a few too many animal shows in the last few weeks.

 

Emma watched as her mother patted the sweet Pomeranian's head. "She'll be fine. You aren't going to be able to stay with her every minute of the day, and it might be better if she learns that now rather than later. And I'll be here to make sure she doesn't get lonely or do any damage."

 

"Thanks, Mom," Emma said, then kissed her on the cheek before she left.


	6. Soul Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets a heart-to-heart with Bobby about Dean and his odd behavior.

Chapter 6

Soul Man

 

_"Strong souls/ live like fire-hearted suns to spend their strength/ in farthest striving action; breathe more free/ in mighty anguish than in trivial ease."_

_George Eliot, The Spanish Gypsy_

 

"Dean, tell Sam I'll be along in a minute. Need to talk to Featherhead here."

 

Dean looked at Bobby, at Cas and then back to Bobby. "OK..." he said, drawing out each syllable. "Don't kill him. He's great backup when things go south." He looked to Cas. "I'll have my cell on if you need anything with the kid."

 

Cas nodded and turned his attention back to Bobby. "I need some explanations," the hunter said after Dean left the hotel room. "I heard the story from Dean, but I'm not entirely sure I trust his perspective. He ain't exactly Ward Cleaver at the moment, but he ain't normal Dean, either."

 

The angel pulled out a toy from the black backpack that had been serving as the diaper bag and handed it to Johnny. "I know. I didn't expect this. I was trying to calm him and to make him understand. I hardly thought it would bypass the awkwardness I anticipated when I first brought Johnny here."

 

"What did you do to him?" Bobby asked as he watched the angel sit on the bed beside the spot on the floor where Johnny played.

 

"I showed him Johnny's soul. As I could see it, feel it."

 

"His soul?" Bobby asked.

 

"It is like Dean's in so very many ways," Cas replied. "I recognized that the moment I was able to touch it. It was grasping out, reaching for its real family." The angel showed so very little emotion much of the time that to see the small, sad smile spread across his face troubled Bobby. "'Every longing of the Soul is holy. That life, with the Soul predominant, is a noble mosaic, a bewitching arabesque.'"

 

"That a biblical quote? Because I'm not familiar with it."

 

Cas shook his head. "Dean insisted I expand my 'notable quotables.' He found the bible references tiring, apparently. It's Edwin Liebfreed, not my Father's work directly. But nonetheless true." He looked down at the baby now gnawing on a colorful toy. "I showed Dean Johnny's soul to get him to understand that this boy needed someone, and I thought maybe Dean would realize just how closely his own soul reverberated with Johnny's."

 

"Did you show him his own?" Bobby asked as he sat down on the other bed.

 

The look that he got for even asking that question told Bobby that he'd just said something very, very stupid. "Of course not." The angel glanced down at Johnny who had scooted across the floor close enough to tug at the track pants he'd borrowed from Dean. Cas readily picked the boy up and held him on his lap. Bobby had to admit that Johnny seemed to have an effect on the angel as much as he had on Dean. He wondered if the two had even thought to test the boy with holy water or silver, just to be safe.

 

It struck him that he'd been a hunter too damned long if he suspected something underhanded just because the boys--and that included Cas--seemed happy.

 

"Imagine if you were an overall optimistic, happy person," Cas said. He met his eyes and spoke in that tone he used when he was trying to explain something to Dean when he was being thick. "This may be a little difficult for you."

 

"Kiss my ass, Cas," Bobby immediately snapped back, though it didn't appear that Cas was making a jab at him, but instead was telling the truth. He wasn't sure which was worse.

 

"Imagine if I showed you your soul, the pure essence of that happiness and optimism, and you felt it double or triple what you normally felt it. You would be feeling a high for the better part of a day." Bobby nodded. That made some sense. "Now imagine Dean's soul, that weight he carries in it and what it would mean to have that doubled, tripled."

 

Bobby's eyes widened. "He wouldn't be able to get to a gun quick enough to blow his own brains out."

 

"Exactly." The angel ran his hand over Johnny's head. "He's not a demon, by the way. I checked. He's a normal little boy."

 

"With a soul that 'reverberates.'" Bobby couldn't help the sarcasm in his voice. It came as second nature to him.

 

"No differently than yours does to the Winchesters. Blood means nothing when a person's being intends for someone to be family."

 

"What if someone doesn't have a soul, but has, let's say, grace." Bobby offered him a smirk because none of them could deny that they considered Cas to be family. Dean had told him so on at least one occasion, Bobby and Sam several--Dean's single admission probably amounted to more than all of the times from Bobby and Sam combined. Bobby had never actually heard Cas say the same. For the most part, he referred only to other angels as his brothers.

 

Johnny leaned against Cas's chest, causing the angel to look down at the boy. Though Bobby had thought Cas was adapting quite well to his own parental role--because it was fairly obvious that Cas was and probably would be Johnny's other caregiver--he saw the startled look in his eyes and the split second of awkwardness as Cas patted the baby's back. Cas wasn't perfectly at ease with this. He was feeling clumsy and was merely being an incredible actor most of the time. And knowing that made the hunter feel just a bit more relaxed about it.

 

"Apparently, it can do the same," Cas answered. The angel looked almost bewildered at the thought, but not disturbed. Bobby guessed it wasn't something Cas had ever really had to think about before, but was starting to do in greater detail.

 

"Dean's soul, do you see it--or feel it--all the time?"

 

"I have learned to put it in the background. He does not make that easy sometimes."

 

Bobby scoffed. "I can't even see the damned thing and I know that." The older man found himself frowning, then meeting Cas's eyes. "Is he at least... I don't know, getting better?"

 

"I believe so," Cas answered, and Bobby had to take him at his word.


	7. Call the Dog Whisperer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The skinwalker hunt is underway, and Cas and Johnny get some quality time.

_"I've seen a look in dogs' eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts."_

_John Steinbeck, American author_

 

Sam tried his hardest not to shudder as he realized that the woman behind the counter was flirting with Bobby, pretty hard and heavy, too. The woman, who appeared to be in her fifties, was on the curvy side, but Sam didn't notice Bobby complaining. In fact, he seemed to be channeling his own mojo. And if the thought of Bobby having "mojo" wasn't disturbing as hell, nothing was.

 

Sam finally lost his battle against an involuntary indication of his disgust--because no one wants to see their father or father figure actively trying to get some action--as Bobby asked for just a moment of the doctor's time and maybe "a certain lovely lady's telephone number."

 

He was about to tell Bobby to stop, since it was getting them nowhere and starting to make him just a little nauseated because Sam's own brain had decided to take that moment to remind him that he and Bobby were sharing a hotel room. However, the doctor came along shortly after and escorted them both to one of the examining rooms. Sam very nearly wanted to kiss the veterinarian just out of gratitude for the rescue. The woman was about his age and definitely attractive with her long, dark hair and hazel eyes, so it wouldn't have exactly been a hardship.

 

If Dean had been there, he would have been playing with the rows of cotton swabs and various pet medical products on the shelf against the far wall of the examination room. The man had a complete inability to leave things alone. That included attractive women like the vet. A lot of the trouble they landed in was due in large part to his brother, much as Sam might have loved the idiot.

 

There were some times when he was grateful to be partnered up with Bobby, since they were able to get straight to business without the hassle.

 

"We're here to talk to you about Gretchen Walker and George Masters's husky, Bright Eyes," Sam said with a smile to the woman. With a name like Bright Eyes, it was no wonder that the skinwalker had decided to turn on its owners.

 

"Terrible when something like that happens to an animal," the vet said. "But it does happen from time to time. Though for a husky, this is very strange."

 

Her demeanor was contrite. She knew that something with the husky had been handled inappropriately, and between Sam and Bobby, they would find out what.

 

"It isn't really common procedure, Dr. Roth, is it?" Bobby asked. "I mean, you put it down without any time for observation and cremated it immediately."

 

"I didn't know yet what Bright Eyes had done. Mrs. Walker brought him in saying he'd been hit by a car. She said she didn't want to provide treatment for him. It wouldn't have taken much to patch him up, but she wouldn't have it. She only wanted him put down. I don't like euthanizing as an option to saving an animal, I really don't, but the shelter can't afford to take in those animals and ... I can't take them all." She gave a small, sad smile. "I have four cats with thirteen legs among them, a goat and a dog with one eye. My staff too, Poor Louise has three dogs with behavior issues.

 

"And I don't know if you've met her, but Ms. Walker is not someone you mess with when she wants something." Sam had to agree based upon Dean's account of the woman. The words "grade A bitch" had come up multiple times as they spoke. There had been no report by anyone that the dog had been hit by anything, but he'd make a note to check the woman's car and perhaps other potential weapons. Apparently Ms. Walker had one hell of a temper and taste for revenge that would rival the Winchesters'.

 

"You put him down immediately, then? No questions?" Bobby asked.

 

The veterinarian gave Sam a look that clearly told him the first victim's widow was not a woman to be trifled with. "She let me inspect him, but she came into this office wanting him to be put down. He was injured, and it isn't uncommon for pet owners to decide the bills are just too much." The woman seemed to feel guilty that she hadn't realized that Ms. Walker had had an ulterior motive in putting the dog down, or that she had probably been the one to hit it with the car. "I knew he was suffering and that if I performed the euthanization, Bright Eyes wouldn't suffer more than he already was."

 

The woman was young for a vet running her own business and every single twitch of her body language showed her embarrassment at this misstep. "And Ms. Walker would have put me out of business."

 

Sam didn't really doubt that last statement. Both victims had been wealthy, and for all that they could gather on Gretchen Walker and her late husband, they had a hell of a lot of power in this small town, most of it wielded by Ms. Walker. Given the woman's demonstration of her vindictiveness--seeking to handle the skinwalker herself rather than calling animal control after it had killed her husband--it wasn't difficult to imagine what she could have done to this small town verinarian.

 

"It was only hours later when word reached me about her husband's death the night before. It's a small town, and I'm surprised it took this long. Usually Louise is a bit of a go..." The vet gave a small smile and stopped herself from calling her assistant a gossip. "Well, she's got her finger to the pulse of the town, so to speak."

 

"What happened when you found out?" Bobby asked.

 

"All hell broke loose," Dr. Roth said. Sam had difficulty imagining this quiet woman becoming that angry. "Not with me." She placed her hands in the pockets of her white coat. "With everything else. Bright Eyes had already gone to the crematorium, we had to thoroughly sterilize the place, and anyone who handled him, including myself, has been undergoing treatment for possible rabies and anything else he might have been carrying. You have no idea how many shots that involves."

 

"Yeah," Bobby said. "I do. For rabies, at least."

 

Sam instinctively placed his hand at the woman's shoulder and told her that he was very sorry to hear that. It was obvious she regretted how the situation occurred, but beneath her quiet demeanor, she was also visibly angry at the woman who had placed her in this position. He couldn't blame her for that, though he had to admit some small amount of gratitude that the "dog" was dead. The amount of drugs they pumped into the thing would have knocked it out, maybe even make it seem dead, but it wouldn't have actually killed it.

 

The fire, though, that was a different story.

 

Yet, his mind pointed something out that didn't mesh with the story they had gotten from Ms. Walker. If he was right on this little detail, his life was about to get much, much more complicated. "I believed that Ms. Walker was under the impression that the crematorium was located in your offices somewhere.'

 

"I told her that he would be incinerated immediately, but I thought it was fairly obvious that my offices couldn't possibly accommodate a cremation facility. It's just an hour from here, and Bright Eyes was taken about a half hour after I put him down."

 

Well, now they couldn't be so sure that the husky was out of the picture. Damn.

 

#

 

Castiel had approached the park a little bewildered about what to do with Johnny. When children were older, they seemed to instinctively know how to play, but at the baby's age, he would need to have Castiel's guidance. When it came to childish pursuits, he couldn't really be of much help. Thankfully, the angel saw a woman pushing a child just a little older than Johnny on the swings; it made sense to at least follow her example.

 

Some of the swings had no real support for a child his age, but the one nearest the mother looked like it was designed similar to the seat Dean had purchased for the Impala. Castiel set the backpack full of baby supplies on the ground behind the swing and tried to maneuver Johnny's legs so they would fit properly into the holes. The baby didn't look upset, but he did seem completely oblivious to Castiel's goal of getting him into the seat and was in no way helping him achieve it.

 

The angel managed to feed one leg, then the other through the openings in the swing, and with a relieved sigh at finally succeeding, he moved behind it to give a gentle push. Gentle, however, wasn't quite what happened given his frustration level, so he might have used a little of his grace to keep Johnny from going too fast. Dean would kill him if he scarred the boy for life. He wouldn't be pleased with himself, either.

 

Johnny was not vocal like the child next to him. There were no loud squealing noises or shouts of "More" from the little boy, but Cas got his reassurance he was doing something right when Johnny turned around in the seat to look back at him and grin.

 

Given that angels were created as fully formed beings, he had never quite understood the reason that humans had to go through childhood when they were so weak and vulnerable. Why would anyone procreate if they knew they would have something as reliant upon them as a baby? The warm feeling spreading through his chest as Johnny looked up at him with a level of adoration worthy of an angel and yet so very different seemed to be the answer.

 

He kept pushing well past the point when the woman beside him grew tired of pushing her toddler and had moved him to play on the slides. Castiel imagined that he would spoil Johnny, given the his body never grew weary of these repetitive motions. If he were honest with himself, his mind was no more tired than the rest of him. He found it increasingly rewarding each time the boy looked up at him with that adoring smile or let out a rare giggle.

 

Making Johnny laugh proved nearly as difficult as it was to do the same for Dean, and it was equally as pleasing, though in a different way.

 

Such small things, the laughter of a child, the smell of freshly cut grass, they had always enthralled him far more than they did his brothers. But having a connection, a family he cared about had irrevocably tied him to this amazing world his Father had made. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about it was that he was still learning. After four years of watching over the Winchesters, he was still finding new and fascinating things about the world.

 

He lost himself in the rhythm of pushing Johnny, only to notice the small dog park that adjoined the playground. It may have been paranoia--he doubted it--but he would have sworn that a Collie was staring at him. His brows furrowed as he frowned and decided that the swings were much too close to the dog park for him to feel comfortable with Johnny's safety. He slowed the swing and lifted the baby out of the seat. It took more effort than he'd expected, as though the plastic contraption was a monster of a different sort, one that had decided it was not going to relinquish its infant prize so easily.

 

He quickly snagged the back pack and made his way over to some bouncing contraption that looked vaguely like a horse and was labeled for children six months old and up. Johnny was ten months, so that would be suitable, and it would get them away from what could possibly be countless monsters in disguise. He was now more certain than ever that the Collie was staring at him, as it still hadn't broken its eye contact, despite his move.

 

Moments like these, he hated that the various shifter races weren't discernible from their human or animal counterparts. Despite being an angel, he was no more aware than the Winchesters of which creatures were the monsters and which were not. And much to his chagrin, the dog park was full of animals, any of whom could be one of the things they were in town to hunt.

 

For Johnny's sake, he tried to pretend that nothing was wrong. He had told Dean he would take Johnny to play in the park, and he planned to keep that promise. If that coincided with keeping a close eye on a potential skinwalker, so be it. He would stay as close to Johnny as was possible. Once he could get him into the ride, that was. It was just as difficult to maneuver Johnny into this seat as it had been with the swing, but once in, the child seemed to enjoy the odd rocking, bouncing horse-thing, especially when he realized he was the one in control of it.

 

Castiel took the opportunity while Johnny was entertaining himself to get his cell phone out of the pack--because these pants did not contain pockets, nor did the shirt, a terrible flaw in their design--to call Dean. He kept a close eye on his charge, who was currently looking up at Castiel with a look of awe and pure joy. He offered a small smile in return as he waited for Dean to answer.

 

A light early summer breeze blew through the playground, only serving to remind Castiel that he was so open in just Dean's clothing. He could not quite say he felt naked like this, but it certainly was unpleasant. It felt especially so, since he found himself the object of a stare-down. One small favor was the fact that the Collie's owner had him leashed and collared, but the dog would not stop staring, even as its owner began to tug.

 

"Cas? Something wrong with the kid? You okay?" Dean's voice immediately asked as he picked up the phone. Dean knew that if Castiel was using this infernal contraption, it was because he had to, not because he wanted to ask about Dean's day.

 

"I believe I have spotted a third skinwalker. A Collie."

 

"Where?"

 

"A dog park near the playground. Its owner is leaving the park. What do you want me to do?" Normally, Castiel wouldn't ask. He would have approached the owner, got whatever information they needed and given the suspicious dog a quick inspection, but with Johnny, he couldn't risk it. He was uncertain of his actions for once and honestly afraid of what might happen if he made the wrong decision.

 

"God, Cas..." Dean said in a quiet whisper. "We need to know the owner's name, address so we can track the dog, but... you have Johnny. Shit, Cas. Being a parent sucks if you're a hunter. Why didn't I remember this when I agreed to this whole thing?"

 

"I can protect him," Castiel said. He knew he would. He didn't care if it meant having to disappear in front of people, even risk not protecting someone else for the sake of the little boy. Johnny would be safe while he was in Castiel's care. "I will speak to the owner."

 

"Look, you just... take care of yourselves," Dean said. There was a worry that crept into the man's voice, worry for both of them.

 

"I will not let you down." Castiel meant it, too. He would not fail Dean, not on this hunt and most certainly not with Johnny.

 

"Never thought you would, Cas. Call me as soon as you have some info." Castiel turned off the cell phone and stuck it back in his pack. He tried to ignore the smile that crept to his face and the lightness in his chest at the words Dean had so freely given him. He had thought it would be many years, if ever, before Dean would express such trust in him after he'd worked with Crowley.

 

Castiel slung the bag on this back and retrieved Johnny from the bouncing thing. His grip on the child was tighter than usual and his stance as protective as he could manage in Dean's slightly oversized clothes. "I'm certain your father was hoping it would be longer before you got involved in a hunt." Johnny just looked up at Castiel and gave him a contended smile. "Perhaps it is best that you are too young yet to understand this should be frightening."

 

The baby tightened his fingers in the borrowed white T-shirt and rested his cheek against the angel's chest. Humans were such small, fragile things, even as they grew up they tried to pretend that they weren't. Dean was a professional in the act, but Castiel had always seen through it. Johnny was just as fragile, but despite his mother's best efforts had yet to learn that he must rely only on himself. He seemed quite pleased to have the angel's protection.

 

"Excuse me," Castiel said as he approached the man with the Collie. "Excuse me, Sir."

 

The man paused before turning around and looking at Castiel, as though he wasn't sure the angel was talking to him. He seemed genuinely confused by the "sir," it seemed.

 

"That is a very ..." He searched for an appropriate word. "... amazing dog you have."

 

"Um, thanks... Not mine, though," the man said as he shifted the dog's leash to his other hand. "I'm just the walker."

 

Castiel searched through his mind for something to spark a conversation, something that would let Dean know the owner's name, at the very least. A lack of human interaction, particularly the kind that involved pets, was not helping him in his search for something worthwhile to say. "What is the owner's name? I have a friend seeking to breed her Collie and might be interested in this ... fine specimen."

 

He had seen an episode of Dr. Sexy, M.D. once where Dr. Sexy had gone to an animal breeder to find a puppy to offer as an apology present for "being an ass" to Dr. Ellen Piccolo. He just hoped he could maintain the lie long enough to find out the owner's information.

 

"Oh, well, you'd have to talk to Dr. Kasabian," the dog walker--was that really even a profession?--said. "Tiran Kasabian. He works at the University, but he'd probably be interested."

 

"Thank you," Castiel said, remembering at the last minute to offer a smile. He watched the man and the Collie, which was still watching him closely, left in the same direction as the hotel. Castiel thought it was best to give them a slight head start before he returned to the room, so he turned the opposite direction on Main Street while keeping an eye on the retreating figures at the other end of the road.

 

At the first opportunity, he would need to call Dean, but he would only do so once he was safe, and the angel did not consider walking around a crowded street when these skinwalkers could be any one or any dog he passed as safe. Johnny, however, had no concept of the danger and large green eyes were busy taking in anything and everything they passed. Castiel had a suspicion that there were times he looked as naive as the child in his arms, wondering at his Father's creation.

 

A sudden knocking on glass made Castiel start. He had not thought to observe the shops for suspicious characters, and that had been shortsightedness on his part. What he saw, instead, was the blonde from Wal-Mart waving happily at him and encouraging him to come inside what looked to be a jewelry store. It would serve as a place of safety, and he had to admit to himself at least that he needed one, and perhaps once inside he could give Dean a phone call to prevent him from worrying, as he knew the hunter was with each minute he didn't hear from Castiel.

 

Bells tinkled above the door as they entered the small shop. "Hi, Cas, Johnny. Welcome to my humble business. It isn't much, but I'm just getting started."

 

"It is quite nice," Castiel said, for want of something better to say. "You own the shop?"

 

"And design the jewelry. I do more business online, but enough locally it made sense to have a brick and mortar place of my own." Castiel initially wanted to point out that the building was actually cement and granite but thought better of it. Either it was a turn of phrase he didn't know or he would be rude to point out an obvious error.

 

Emma smiled and leaned over the glass counter so she could tickle a finger beneath Johnny's chin, which caused the baby to squirm and giggle. "Hey there little guy." She gave Castiel a quick glance. "You are looking much more casual than when I last saw you."

 

He looked down at his clothes. For a split second he had forgotten the lack of his suit and trenchcoat. "These are Dean's. He felt I should wear something a little more relaxed if I was going to be taking Johnny to the park."

 

Emma gave him a warm smile. "Did you forget to pack them along with Johnny's things?"

 

"I... do not think of such things. Dean is much better at preparing for travel." He had to remember to behave like a normal human and not suggest that he had only one set of clothing. This woman seemed to believe that he and the hunter were close enough to travel together, so this seemed a reasonable statement.

 

"Is Dean around? I thought maybe the four of us could grab something for lunch. The Italian place opens at noon."

 

"I am sure he would be willing," he said. "I can give him a call." He tried in vain to reach his phone out of the pack while still holding Johnny. This was definitely not going to be a simple task as long as his arm and upper body were devoted to supporting the 10-month-old.

 

"You can just set him on the counter while you get your phone. I'll keep an eye on him." Castiel knew he wouldn't leave Johnny's care entirely up to this woman that he'd just met, but he could sense her soul, and it was bright and pleasant. There was no darkness there, nothing tinging its innate beauty. She was not going to intentionally harm the boy, though he couldn't be sure she wouldn't do so unintentionally.

 

Still, Johnny was placed in a seated position on the counter while Emma put a hand at the baby's thigh to hold him in place and the angel did the same at his waist. Without his small burden, he was able to maneuver so that he could get the phone from the bag and dial Dean's number.

 

"You okay? I was starting to worry." There was no need for hellos with the Winchesters. Usually, a phone call was because someone required assistance or was a means of assuring the other person of one's health, as this one did.

 

"We are fine," Castiel reassured him. "I am currently in a shop on Main Street. Emma from Wal-Mart owns it."

 

"She's standing right there, so you can't actually tell me what happened."

 

"That's right," Castiel replied with a smile in Emma's direction. He was getting much better at this deception thing. Dean would be proud.

 

"But you found out the owner's address."

 

"He's a professor at the college. Dr. Tiran Kasabian." Castiel watched as Emma proceeded to entertain Johnny with necklace full of colorful stones and crystals. The baby's eyes widened in wonderment as it reached for the shimmering object. "But Emma has invited us for lunch at an Italian restaurant."

 

"We might be able to ask her about what has been going on in town," Dean said. "And I'm not going to turn down a good meal."

 

"That was my thinking as well. And since she is being so nice to Johnny right now, I believe we should treat her to lunch."

 

"Treat her? You sound like it's your money you're offering away, you know that, Cas?" Dean sounded a little irritated at him, but Castiel really didn't care if he was or not. The girl had unintentionally provided a refuge for the angel and Johnny. They owed her something.

 

"It is not exactly yours either," Castiel replied, knowing that the statement probably made little sense to the woman currently entertaining Johnny and trying to pretend that she wasn't listening in on the conversation.

 

"Fine, but I get the credit for buying lunch."

 

"As you wish," Castiel said, noting an unusual giggle from the young woman behind the counter. "Her shop is located at..." He picked up a business card from the counter, letting his hand leave Johnny for only a moment before returning to its spot of holding the baby in his position. "... 10105 Main Street. We will see you shortly. Goodbye, Dean."

 

There was a click on the other end and Castiel hung up his own phone. "You two are adorable," Emma said. "'As you wish.'" She apparently took note the blank look he gave her. "Princess Bride? Please tell me you've seen The Princess Bride." All the angel could do was shake his head. He had seen princess brides before. He had even taken some notice of the royal wedding when he had been trying to find something to watch on the hotel television. Yet, Emma was looking at him like this was an important pop culture reference the angel was missing out on.

 

"You are so deprived," she said, looking slightly horrified but still as friendly as ever. "You and Dean should make a night of it. I think you'd both like the movie. I don't know anyone who doesn't" She grinned and shrugged. "But then again, Most of my friends have the same sense of humor."

 

Castiel picked Johnny up once again and began to walk about the room, giving the boy the chance to look around at the colorful bobbles around the room. "Still adorable, though."


	8. Lunch Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family lunch plus one.

_"Find me a man who's interesting enough to have dinner with and I'll be happy."_

_Lauren Bacall, American actress._

 

Castiel found himself staring at his suit and coat spread across the motel bed as Johnny played on the floor with one of his toys. Emma had very politely pointed out that while there was no dress code--whatever that meant--at this restaurant, he might look out of place in Dean's clothing. That left him with his familiar suit, but he got the impression she wasn't expecting him to dress in a suit and tie. That didn't seem to be lunch attire, if there was such a thing, even if Dean would be arriving still wearing his FBI get-up.

 

Once again, he would have to appear in public without his comfortable layers, and once again, he wasn't going to like it.

 

#

 

"We are still on the lookout for Mrs. Butler's dog," the animal control officer said. "When we got a Pomeranian in about a week and a half ago, we thought we finally had the right dog, but they weren't the same animal."

 

"And you know this how?" Bobby asked. He saw Sam wandering through the shelter, checking out each of the dogs discreetly with silver to see if any react.

 

"We had one of our on-call veterinarians check her out. Mrs. Butler's dog had a microchip, and we couldn't find one, neither could the vet's office. They compared records, too. Said they couldn't have been the same dog."

 

"Let me guess. The vet was Sophia Roth?" Bobby said. He really didn't want to be suspicious of the woman. She had seemed to genuinely regret how she had handled the situation with the other skinwalker. Unfortunately, two in a row sounded warning bells in Bobby's head.

 

On the bright side, he would get to see Louise again. Bobby wasn't quite sure how things were going with Jody back in Sioux Falls, and a little flirting certainly didn't hurt his ego. He could do with a little friendly banter from a woman who wasn't, for once, spending the biggest portion of her time ogling one of the brothers.

 

"It was, actually." the man said. "You've met Sophia?"

 

"We were just talking to her about the unfortunate death of Mr. Masters."

 

"Can't believe she'd make a mistake like that," the animal control officer said. "I've known Sophia for seven years and she's never been anything but the best thing to happen to this town's animals. We talked about it, and I told her that if she ever felt pressured by someone like Ms. Walker again to step out of the room and give me a call for moral support if nothing else."

 

"It's a good thing she has a friend like you," Bobby said. Though there was a fairly obvious dynamic between the animal control officer and the good animal doctor of unrequited and completely one-sided love. He supposed he could understand why. She hadn't been so hard on the eyes. Now that he thought about it, the woman reminded him of Catherine Zeta Jones, and that woman was beautiful. The only reason Bobby was going to willingly sit through a musical was going to be her in fishnets.

 

And his mind was wandering.

 

"If you could get me the name of the Pomeranian's owner, I'd appreciate it. We just need to be thorough. You understand."

 

The guy behind the counter nodded and printed off the information on the dog. As the printer was whirring back to life, Sam came back into the office. "All clean," he said quietly. Well that was good news. They had a pack of who knows how many dogs, but at least the dozen or so in cages where they couldn't do any harm were all clean.

 

Even his own mind couldn't comprehend the level of his sarcasm in those thoughts.

 

"I'm going to make a trip back to the vet's. Apparently, she checked out the Pom, too. I need you to talk to this Emma Wennerstrand." Bobby handed the other hunter the freshly printed paper.

 

"Are you going to try to set up a date with Louise?" Sam asked with a smirk.

 

"I am going to act like a professional concerning this case, idjit." Bobby said. "If Louise happens to want to have dinner tonight, well good for me."

 

"Just don't bring her back to our room," Sam muttered as he walked out of the front door.

 

#

 

Dean put on his most purposely charming grin as he entered the tiny jewelry shop on Main Street. So far, his investigations into other related incidents or unusual deaths hadn't turned up much. This pack seemed to have better leadership than most, and Dean could only imagine that the two skinwalkers who had rebelled against their owners had hell to pay to some superior or another. Since it looked like Emma was not only a local but owned a shop not far from the dog park, if there was anyone in this town who might know something, he guessed it would be her.

 

And if she didn't know, she could direct him where to go, perhaps over a private dinner or coffee at her place. Dean might have been getting a little ahead of himself, but who was he to pass up the chance to get with a very, very hot woman?

 

The bells tinkled as he entered into the shop, and he saw Emma was already waiting with her purse. She looked professional, and perhaps a little older than Dean had originally guessed while she had been wearing the T-shirt at Wal-Mart. With her blond hair more expertly curled and tousled, a deep blue linen shirt and black dress pants, the woman looked to be about 25 or so, but still gorgeous. Her eyes were so dark that a person would have to search for the pupils, yet the blond hair did seem to be natural, along with everything else.

 

"Hi, Dean," she said with a smile as she readjusted the strap on her purse.

 

That was when Dean realized they were alone in the shop. While normally, this was a good turn of events, it meant that he didn't know where Johnny or Cas were, and that was bad. He'd been a father to Johnny for all of 48 hours and already he could feel that crazy Winchester protective instinct kicking in.

 

"Are Johnny and Cas in the back?" he asked, hoping there was a back to this store.

 

Emma shook her head. "There isn't much back there but sharp objects and tools to make the jewelry. Not a good spot for Johnny. Cas headed back to the hotel so that he could change into something a little less casual for lunch. The restaurant isn't fancy..."

 

"But customers don't usually show up in a T-shirt and track pants." Dean chuckled. He had left his suit coat in the Impala and was still trying to decide what to do about the tie. He hated the thing. "He'll be wearing the same thing you saw him in last night. Cas doesn't quite get dressing appropriately for a situation. He's sort of a one-note wonder when it comes to clothes. Including that trench coat."

 

And yet, when the bells signaled someone's entrance, Cas managed to prove him wrong. Though he'd changed Johnny out of the car shirt and into a tan polo shirt, what was startling was that there was no tie, no suit coat, no trench coat on the angel. He was back in his white shirt and black pants, but the top two buttons of the white shirt were undone and the sleeves were casually rolled up to his forearms.

 

Twice today already he had seen Cas looking startlingly different, merely because of a change in clothes. He had looked small and far more defenseless than Dean knew him to actually be while he'd worn Dean's too-big clothes. Now, as he carried Dean's son with a backpack slung over his shoulder, he looked like an average Joe.

 

It didn't surprise Dean to think that the angel's usual clothing was something of a security blanket for him. Dean had his own, and the ones that remained he wore even when he pretended to be an FBI agent. The ring and even the Tibetan skull bracelet were never off his body. Before he'd thrown it away, he'd never taken that amulet off, either, not until Cas asked him. He didn't miss it as much as he once did, but he wasn't relinquishing his other security blankets any time soon, so he could sympathize with the angel.

 

Still, it was strange to see the dusting of dark hair on arms that peaked out from the white shirt and to actually see Cas's collarbone. Though both had been visible before when he'd been wearing Dean's clothes, the hunter hadn't noticed these things earlier. That may have been attributed to the fact that he was amused that the all powerful angel could be so easily dwarfed by the hunter's belongings. Even then, Cas had still seemed the normal angel, if an indignant one, but now, he had to admit that his friend looked human.

 

"I hope that this will be appropriate," Cas said as he adjusted Johnny's position in his arms.

 

"You look fine," Emma assured him. It was the sound of her voice that made the hunter realize he'd been staring. Cas gave him an odd look, and Dean felt a hand on his arm. "Doesn't he, Dean?"

 

Dean glanced down at Emma and her hand, then back at Cas. "Yeah. Today has been a big change of pace for you, Cas."

 

That earned the hunter a small quirk of the lips. "Perhaps you would like to take Johnny?" he offered. Johnny didn't seem to care which of them it was that held him, so long as it was one of them. The baby had not yet developed any real preference for one of them over the other. Still, Dean knew he might have to leave Johnny with Cas for the rest of the afternoon, so he thought he should at least spend some time with him while he could.

 

If he could find any positives about his time with Ben and Lisa through the ache that still lingered, it was that some of the more basic concepts of fatherhood came more easily to Dean than they probably would have otherwise. It was a much steeper learning curve when it came to the baby things, but at least he got the basic idea.

 

When Johnny quickly snuggled against Dean's chest, he assumed he was doing a few things right. Then again, what Johnny had to compare Dean--and Cas--to didn't sound all that impressive, anyway.

 

Emma offered a dimpled smile and held the door open for the two men and the baby before locking up her shop. "So," she said, placing a hand on Cas's arm, "Cas and I were talking, and he said he'd never seen the Princess Bride. Please tell me that you've at least seen it, and if you didn't like it, pretend you did."

 

"Good movie," Dean said. He had others that ranked higher on his list of favorites, but he'd always liked the sword fighting, and come on, it had Andre the Giant. He remembered one of the theaters in Sioux Falls had shown it a couple of years after it came out, and Bobby had taken him and Sam to see it while their dad had been hunting a chupacabra in Oklahoma. Dean loved his dad and looked up to him and would give anything to have him back, but... nearly all of the traditional "dad stuff" had been Bobby's domain.

 

"She suggested that we 'make a night of it,'" Cas said, and Dean had to admit the idea had promise. Rent a copy of it, sit at Emma's place with some popcorn, some beer... But then there was Johnny to think about. And as much as Dean liked the idea of saying goodnight to his angel after the credits started the roll and having some fun with Emma, it seemed wrong to ask Cas to babysit for him so early on. Even if Cas was the entire reason he found himself in this situation--and that thought made Dean pause for a moment because it made it sound like Cas had somehow managed to knock him up--the hunter wasn't going to bail on the kid so soon after getting him.

 

"Maybe we could," Dean said, deciding that leaving it vague was best. Noncommittal always worked best when he knew nothing was going to happen with a particular girl. And though Emma was fucking gorgeous, it was totally the wrong time.

 

The blonde led them over to a small corner restaurant. The wooden and glass door was thick and obviously old. Though it was apparent to Dean once he got inside that standards were not so strict, there had probably been a time when this restaurant, which according to the sign had been there since 1948, had been one of the fanciest in the town. The wait staff was all clad in maroon dress shirts or blouses and black pants or skirts, while the bus boys wore black polos and the host, a young man no more than 20, was stuck with an unusual shade of yellow. He supposed to interior design-y types, the colors all worked, but all Dean could think of was mustard as he looked at the brown-haired man in the hipster glasses.

 

Thankfully, despite a decidedly artsy hair cut and the black-rimmed specs, the host had none of the annoying demeanor Dean had been anticipating. The very moment he saw Emma, his whole face lit up. He immediately gave her a hug and a quick kiss to the cheek. Dean was trying very hard as he watched them interact not to stereotype the guy, but he was giving the hunter a sort of vibe that he was gay. Sam always hated when Dean would try to pinpoint who was gay or who wasn't in a crowd, and he tried to be open-minded, but he was 99.99 percent sure this guy wasn't straight.

 

Emma and the young man, who was talking about high school and so was even younger than Dean had initially thought, exchanged a quick conversation before they were interrupted by the clearing of a throat from one of the red shirts. (They might have been maroon or brick or whatever, but as a discreet Star Trek fan, Dean preferred red shirts.) The teen's face turned pink.

 

"Let me show you to your table," he said as he escorted them over to a corner booth where one of the waiters was already setting up a high chair for Johnny.

 

"Oh, Trevor, I didn't introduce you. This is Dean with Johnny and Cas."

 

"Cas?" Trevor asked as he set the menus on the table. "Is that short for something?"

 

Dean had never thought to cover for the angel's unusual name before, but it made sense. But what cover, or better yet, what alternative name could he give the teenager that wouldn't be an inadvertent insult to Cas?

 

"Castiel. My... father was particularly fond of Judeo Christian mythology. I was named after the Angel of Thursday." Cas's eyes met Deans, seeking approval for the damned near incredible--for Cas--half-truth he'd told the waiter. The hunter certainly had to offer a nod of the head to let him know he'd done a good job. And then it struck him that he hadn't known that about Cas.

 

"Why didn't I already know that about your name?" Dean asked as he set Johnny in his high chair. "The Angel of Thursday thing."

 

"It has never come up in conversation. You have never before asked me about... the origin of my name." Dean didn't know what surprised him more, that there was disappointment in Cas's voice or that he'd noticed it in the first place.

 

Trey-Trever-whatever his name was told them the specials for the day and got their drink orders before rushing off away from the stern looks from the red shirts.

 

"So he's one of those types," Emma said, giving Cas a sympathetic smile as she slid into the far side of one of the booths so that the angel could sit beside her. Dean was beginning to feel like a third wheel, or rather a mismatched fourth. Johnny seemed cool with the whole situation as he was buckled into the chair. "I bet you know everything about him."

 

"Not all," Cas answered. "Dean doesn't like me to pry."

 

"But you know where his name comes from?"

 

"His grandmother," Cas said. "She was named Deanna."

 

Emma made a faint clucking noise as she shook her head at Dean. It was all done good naturedly, but Dean didn't like to have his shortcomings pointed out to him. He'd screwed up a lot when it came to Cas, not thanking him nearly often enough, not _just talking_ to him or calling on him for anything that didn't relate to something Dean needed. But things had gotten better. He should have known he was the Angel of Thursday. Hell, the jokes he could have made alone were reason he should have known that.

 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a heel." He placed a bib around Johnny's neck. The fact that these came in Velcro was amazing. He remembered his dad freaking out when he'd had to tie a bib around Sammy's neck and had done it too tight. It wasn't as though he'd done it to the point it constricted the then-toddler's airflow, but it had been enough to make John Winchester see visions of his youngest son turning blue or gasping for air. It had been an overreaction, but it was one of the earliest lessons Dean got in the importance of keeping Sammy safe.

 

"I do not understand how you are related to the back end of a shoe," Cas said, looking as confused as ever.

 

"It's a saying, Cas," Dean said as he gave a quick glance to the menu while the angel pulled out a small container of what looked like thin paste.

 

"I purchased the cereal for Johnny, as the woman at the diner suggested," the angel said. Dean couldn't fight the instinctual curling of his lip at the stuff. He didn't care if Johnny needed to see the action of eating imitated or not, he sure as hell wasn't putting that in his own mouth.

 

He looked to the baby. "I'm very, very sorry, kid." Johnny just looked at him with those big green eyes. He was so innocent and so trusting.

 

And they were going to feed him paste.

 

"Select something off the menu for me," Cas said as he began stirring the white substance with a small purple spoon. "I have no preference."

 

It was Cas's way of saying, "I have no idea what to pick, nor do I need to eat it, so come up with something that won't make me look like a freak in front of this woman."

 

This place had some sort of "Best of Italy" lunch special for two. That'd work. And if Dean ate a little more than his share, no problem.

 

He glanced up to see Johnny giving Cas the most pathetic look. He was eating the odd cereal, but he looked almost betrayed. Dean felt the sudden need to apologize to Johnny for a second time. Instead, he reached a hand up to rub at at the small shoulder. He felt like a coach trying to encourage a player to push through it. And, he supposed, in a way he was.

 

"I swear the solid stuff gets so much better," he said as he watched the baby eat. "Just wait til you get to try a bacon cheeseburger. And pie. You'll love pie."

 

#

 

Bobby knew that neither of the boys thought much of his skills with the ladies. Most of the time, he didn't think much of them, himself. But on occasion, when he just _knew_ that someone was interested and the odds of having to interact with them again was limited, Bobby managed to be downright charming.

 

"Hello again, Louise."

 

"Well, Officer Jones--"

 

"Call me Bobby," he told her.

 

"Bobby," she repeated. "Not that I'm not very glad to see you, but what brings you back so soon?"

 

"I needed to see the doctor again," he told her as he leaned against the counter to smile down at the seated woman. "Though coming back isn't without its perks."

 

The doctor stepped out from the filing area. "Hello again Officer Jones. Is there a problem?" She looked down at Louise. "You gave him all of the files he needed on Bright Eyes, right?" The younger woman tucked her long black hair behind her ear as she readjusted the position of the files in her arms.

 

"Sure did," Louise replied with a grin up at Bobby.

 

"Bright Eyes isn't the problem. We actually had a question about Mrs. Butler's dog and a Pomeranian you inspected for the animal shelter." The hunter watched the vet for any tells, anything to indicate she was preparing to tell a lie. She looked momentarily confused and then moved to the computer beside Louise. "I treated Jasmine, Mrs. Butler's Pom. And I remember there being a Pomeranian when the office did our routine checks on the shelter's animals." She began scanning through the computer. "Let's see, I saw a good, old-fashioned mutt, a boutique mutt..." She gave Bobby a smirk. "A schnoodle, they called it." The attractive young woman gave a roll of her eyes before resuming her reading. "Two pit bulls, another mutt. ... Here's your Pomeranian."

 

"You inspected it?"

 

"No. Ronald did. He's been part of the practice for the last two years," she said. "He will be in tomorrow, but I have his reports here. He inspected the shelter dog and found it to be about five, no microchip or sign there had been one... Female though. Like Mrs. Butler's, but her dog was slow. We were medicating her with pain killers to help with her joints."

 

Dr. Roth stood up straight and put a hand on Louise's shoulder. "Could you get those for Officer Jones? I have to see to Mrs. Edward's cat."

 

"Finally having to put the poor thing down?" Louise asked, and received a nod from the doctor.

 

"I hope that helps, Officer," the vet said before disappearing to the back once again.

 

Bobby hoped it did, too.


	9. It Gets Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a slight misunderstanding about Dean and Cas while Sam uses a little of his own mojo.

_"Not all things are black nor all things white. It is a fundamental taxonomy that nature rarely deals with discrete categories. Only the human mind invents categories and tries to force facts into separated pigeon-holes."_

_Alfred Kinsey, Sexual Behavior in the Human Male_

 

Sam had begun his search for Emma Wennerstrand at her store on Main Street, but found an "Out to Lunch" sign in the window. He had tried knocking anyway, just to be certain, only to be directed by one of the passersby--it was a small town, the kind where everyone knew everyone--that Emma had gone to the Italian restaurant across the street with a gay couple they didn't know. Apparently it was "just like Emma to find even stray gays in this town."

 

Sam had followed that lead and had entered the restaurant to be greeted by, and visually appreciated by, a teenager in a gold-yellow shirt. "Wow. They make them big where you come from," the kid blurted out before he could turn a shade of pink and bite his bottom lip out of embarrassment.

 

"So I've been told," Sam said with a small and slightly awkward smile. "Would you know if Emma Wennerstrand is here?"

 

"She's sitting near the corner with the two men and the baby," the teen said. At that, Sam tried not to break out into a broad grin. He suspected just who he would find at that table. After all, hadn't they said their new friend was named Emma? Oh, this was too good. "Do you need me to get her?"

 

"No," Sam said as he peered over the tables to see his brother talking shoveling pasta into his mouth. "That's my brother and nephew with her." That word was going to take some getting used to, but it had come out far more naturally than he'd expected. He left the host at the door and tried very hard to keep his smug grin off his face. Once again, Dean was thought to be gay, and thank God, this time, Sam wasn't assumed to be his partner. This just proved that the reason people assumed the brothers were gay had nothing to do with Sam.

 

He always said Dean seemed butch.

 

As Sam approached the table, he finally got a look at the mysterious Emma, and she was certainly as attractive as Dean had described her. "Hello, Dean, Cas." He saw the baby immediately turn toward his voice and what might have been a smug grin on the new uncle's face turned into just a pleased one. "Hello there, Johnny boy." He thought about giving the boy's cheek a light pat, but considering the odd substance sticking to it, he thought better of it.

 

Dean frowned at him, apparently assuming that Sam was going to snake this girl away from him, and he wasn't that far off. That was exactly what Sam intended to do. Dean just didn't know he had never had a chance with her. If there was anyone at that table she was interested in, it was Cas, and she was too busy looking at Sam's brother and the angel like they were more adorable than puppies.

 

She totally thought they were gay.

 

"Hi Sammy," Dean said. He was resorting to the old name because he was threatened and liked to make Sam seem like a kid whenever he got like this. "Emma, this is my little brother. Sammy, this is Emma."

 

"Emma Wennerstrand?" Sam asked. "I have been looking for you. I was hoping to talk to you about the Pomeranian you got from the shelter." Sam could see both Dean and Cas's eyes widening with the realization of what this could mean.

 

"You think something might be wrong with Leia?" she asked. "The same sort of thing that happened with Mr. Walker and Mrs. Butler?" Sam was impressed. She had taken nearly no time--definitely less than Dean did sometimes--to put two and two together.

 

"Your dog is named Leia?" Dean asked.

 

"I like Star Wars," she replied back, almost immediately on the defensive.

 

"That wasn't a criticism," Sam's brother said. It definitely wasn't. Sam liked Star Wars well enough, but Dean had seen the original three movies more times than Sam could count. He'd seen the gold bikini part at least quadruple that. Close quarters in a hotel room had told Sam that his brother had used it as a wank material for a large chunk of his puberty. He suspected that continued even after the voice changes and hair growth were long since over.

 

"My mom has her," she answered, looking deadly serious at that and shifting closer to Cas.

 

Cas was immediately sliding out of the booth to allow her to leave. "Will you be needing any assistance?"

 

"I'm going to call Bobby," Sam said. "You two finish your lunch and keep an eye on Johnny." He gave Dean a pat on the shoulder. "For now, it's CDC business."

 

Sam smirked as his brother gave him a glare when they moved from the table. If only Dean knew that he had already been neatly tucked away into the friend zone. It should have been obvious, though, just by the looks the blonde was giving both men at the table. Still, Dean was oblivious, and it didn't seem to matter to Cas at all.

 

Sam led Emma to the front entrance. "Where is Leia now?" he asked.

 

"With my mom," the blonde said. "She had the day off, so she's helping her get acclimated to the apartment." Deep brown eyes showed worry for her mother's sake, and Sam was quick to place a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

 

"Right now, we don't know if there is anything wrong with Leia yet. What I need for you to do is call your mom. Do you have a crate?" Emma nodded her head. "And has she been in it before without any problems?"

 

"I had to put her in for an hour or so last night while I went to the grocery store. She is a very docile thing."

 

"Just call your mom and ask her to put her in the crate and leave for a little while. Tell her that you want to get her accustomed being alone gradually. We don't want to upset your mother unnecessarily. Especially if we find out, and I'm sure we will, that Leia is fine."

 

She nodded. "So... you and your brother are in town the same time, but you happen to be on a case?" A thin blond eyebrow raised suspiciously. Oh, this one was bright and any weak lies would be spotted in an instant.

 

"Dean's FBI. He's here for the same reason. Possibility of this all originating from some illegally traded animals used for a dog fighting ring Dean caught last month. Cas came with because this was supposed to be their vacation with Johnny until Dean got called out."

 

"They take him out on cases?" Emma asked, looking somewhere between shocked and doubtful.

 

"Cas is FBI, too. Tax division, if that wasn't obvious," Sam said with a fond grin in the direction of the angel awkwardly stabbing his pasta. Oh, he was most certainly playing along with the whole gay Dean and Cas thing, and that made Cas his brother in law of sorts. In a perfect world, he'd hope he'd like the person his brother was in a committed relationship with, if Dean could ever manage it. He considered Cas a friend anyway, so speaking about the man as though he was fond of him wasn't a stretch. "But he can handle himself, and he's smart enough to keep Johnny out of danger. As far as I know, Dean's just here as a precaution."

 

"And they still made him cancel his vacation?"

 

"I don't know how well you know my brother," Sam said, grinning and offering Dean a wave which was not so discreetly returned with a middle finger, "but he can rub people the wrong way. His supervisor specifically."

 

"He seems very sweet with Johnny, though. And with Cas."

 

"What can I say, they have a profound bond." Sam paused only momentarily at why that particular turn of phrase came to mind when he thought of his brother and the angel. He could have sworn he'd heard it somewhere before.

 

#

 

Dean fumed as he watched his brother completely sneak Emma out from under him. While a small part of him was impressed that his brother had apparently picked up a few tricks from the master--Dean, himself--he was irritated it was to his own loss. He speared a piece of Italian sausage and ate it slowly and deliberately.

 

"You are upset," Cas said with his head tilted toward the right. "I don't think Emma would have left if it were not for the concern about her dog."

 

"I'm not irritated with Emma," Dean said as he continued to chew his food. "I'm pissed at Big Bird. He totally snaked her. And he's going to get to play the romantic hero and save her from her evil dog, if her dog's evil... That was supposed to be my job." He hated that his voice came out with just a bit of a whine at the end.

 

"How was that your job? We didn't know about her dog until Sam arrived."

 

"It's the principle," Dean snapped back. When Johnny let out a small whimper, he regretted his temper immediately. He looked up and saw the slightest bit of fear in those big green eyes. God, he never wanted to cause that. His surly demeanor quickly softened and he smiled at him. "I'm sorry, Kiddo." The child didn't seem any more at ease. He shifted over in the booth and leaned over to press a kiss to one of the few clean spots on the baby's forehead. The boy seemed completely startled at the move. One more thing it appeared he hadn't experienced before. Dean so wanted to kill Johnny's mother.

 

Johnny stared, but didn't cry, so Dean repeated the action. Johnny would know the kind of affection that the boy had been deprived of and that Dean had never felt he received enough of from his own father. If the hunter was really going to embrace the whole idea of being a dad, he was going to do this right. And if he couldn't do it, or if he saw he was causing his son--that word still hadn't sunk in entirely--more looks of fear like he had just witnessed, someone better would do it instead, regardless of whether the manipulative angel thought he should be Johnny's father. He wouldn't half-ass this.

 

A shy smile spread across the baby's face, and Dean knew that all was forgiven.

 

Emma approached the table one last time. "I need to get back to my apartment," she told the them, "but I've had a really great time. I hope you get everything wrapped up and you can finally get that well-deserved vacation."

 

"Any chance we'll be seeing you again?" Dean asked, still hopeful he had a shot with the pretty woman.

 

"Give me a call, and maybe we I can round up my copy of The Princess Bride." She bit at the lower of her rose pink lips. "That is if you aren't angry at me for this. You see, I had a little bit of a secondary motive for bringing the two of you here. And I know this is going to sound a little cliche and all, but... do you think you could talk to Trevor?"

 

It took Dean a moment to remember that Trevor was the name of the host wearing the mustardy-colored shirt. "About what?"

 

"It's just, he is having an awful time of things, from his parents to his school, and I have never seen him so depressed. This isn't exactly an open-minded area, so he doesn't really know any down-to-earth gay men. Certainly none solid enough to raise a child together."

 

Dean was positive that his brain had just stopped. Once again, someone had thought he was gay, and he couldn't blame it on Samantha, who was giving him a shitty ass grin as he stood by the doors, waiting on Emma. He'd have blamed his giant of a brother for making the woman think they were gay except she'd said she brought them to the restaurant in hopes they would have a talk with Trevor. Sam hadn't even met her until a few minutes ago.

 

He should have been dismayed or even riled by the assumption, he knew, but he couldn't manage it. After all, Emma had met him and Cas buying baby products for Johnny together, and obviously they were both really attached to the kid. Then there was the whole personal space invasion and staring thing that Cas did whenever they were together. It made sense that an outside observer who didn't know better might assume they were together.

 

Politeness would be necessary when he told her that she was wrong, that they weren't a couple, and he was about to do just that. Then he got a good look at the kid, the one Emma wanted them to help. The kid did look like shit, had the look Sammy'd had when he'd been in high school, it was a lousy look that at best made a kid run away first chance he got. Made him do worse if he couldn't get away.

 

For all that Sam liked to pretend that Dean didn't like kids, the fact was that he had a soft spot for them. Always had. Even if they were teenaged hipsters with a possible emo streak. Honestly, reminded him a little of Sam in those ways, too, because he didn't doubt his brother'd had the potential for the hipster-emo crowd, but that hadn't quite been the trend of the day while they were in high school and certainly not one that John Winchester would have tolerated.

 

The elder brother wanted to sigh. If the fact that this was a kid who was being bullied wasn't enough, he'd manage to mentally connect Trevor to his greatest weakness: Sam. Dean knew he couldn't freak out now and maybe make this kid feel worse about himself. Dean now felt too invested to let that happen. Son of a bitch.

 

"Don't know how much help we'll be, but yeah, sure."

 

Emma beamed at him, then gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. Dean was tempted to give his brother a self-satisfied smirk, but while it wasn't 100 percent certain, he knew that Sam knew what Emma thought she knew. (And if that wasn't one complicated line of thought, Dean didn't know what was.) It was pointless to be smug about this when he was prepared to pretend to be in a committed gay relationship for the sake of some kid he didn't know and a pretty blond who was far too skilled at batting her eyelashes at him.

 

Cas looked more than a little surprised as the woman gave him a quick peck on the cheek. His hand immediately slipped up to his cheekbone where her lips had been just moments before. He wore one of his little half-smiles, which Dean had come to know meant he was pleased. The angel had enough sense to wait until she had walked away to ask, "She wishes for us to be happy?"

 

"She thinks we are a couple," Dean said slowly. "Gay means homosexual. Liking the same gender."

 

The head tilted in that familiar, baby-birdlike way and Dean could tell that Cas was thinking long and hard about something. "So if she was flirting with anyone when we were shopping, it was me. Once you arrived, she would have assumed we were a couple." The hunter glared at his friend as the angel licked the tip of his index finger and marked an invisible tally in the air. "I believe this is what Sam said to do when one triumphs over another."

 

Dean's glare did not lessen, but Cas was thankfully not as bad as either of the Winchesters when it came to rubbing it in. The angel quickly recovered. "How do we go about acting like we are a couple?"

 

"Apparently, behaving like normal," the hunter said bitterly. At what point did their odd little "profound bond" become something that could be misinterpreted as a relationship? "Anything more than that, just follow my lead."

 

Cas nodded before asking Dean for the diaper bag. "I don't imagine this cereal will be easy to remove if I allow it to dry," he explained The hunter handed over the back pack and started to slide out of the booth. He noted one of the waiters approaching with the tiramisu as he moved toward the front of the restaurant.

 

"Trevor, is it?" Dean asked because he was still afraid he would mess up the kid's name. He got a nod from the teen. "Do you think you could take a quick break?"

 

One of the red shirts, a woman, approached and gave Trevor a pat on the back. "Go ahead. I'll cover for the next couple of minutes."

 

Cas had apparently finished cleaning the baby's face and was now eying the tiramisu warily, poking it with his fork. Johnny was busy playing with an oversized set of plastic keys, and hardly noticed as Dean and the teenager approached the table. The hunter slid toward the wall to give Trevor enough room to sit. "So... Emma apparently had an ulterior motive in bringing us here. She said you've been having a rough time of school, and thought that we..." He gestured between himself and Cas. "...could help give you one of those 'it gets better' speeches or something."

 

The teen gave a soft "Oh" before Dean continued on.

 

"But I don't know how much we can really help, not when it comes to surviving high school. You know that asshole that dates all of your female friends, all the nice girls in school, and treats them like crap?" Trevor gave a knowing nod and rolled his eyes. Oh yeah, he knew that guy; everyone knew him. "That was me in high school. I was that dick. And him?" He tilted a thumb toward Cas, who was still poking the damned dessert. "He was homeschooled. ... Would you just eat the thing already?"

 

Blue eyes met his as Cas apparently realized the final instruction was for him. He speared the tiramisu and gingerly took a bite. He made an appreciative face. "I believe I have found a food I like. It is... odd."

 

Trevor looked at the angel curiously, and Dean was quick to cover. "He lived a very sheltered life. His dad homeschooled him, filled him full of Bible verses... He had never even had a bacon cheeseburger until about three years ago. Totally deprived."

 

"Bible verses?" Trevor asked, seeming to pick up on something familiar to his own troubles. "So your father was very religious? He probably wasn't very happy to find out you were gay."

 

Cas stopped his thoughtful chewing and swallowed. "My father does not care if love comes in the form of a man or a woman. 'And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.' Of course, that is one of many translations, but that is my favorite." He gave that contented smile he got when talking about heaven or his father--back before all of the doubts began to creep in--and took another bite of the dessert.

 

"When it comes to us, we can't really relate to high school experiences. But we know shit. I've been through, well, some hell, and it was Cas that pulled me through it. I didn't think there would be any end, and there were times I just wanted things to end before he came along. God help me, I'm grateful he did." Dean was startled by the look of surprise in the angel's eyes at that. It was perhaps one of the few times Dean had spoken aloud his gratitude for Castiel pulling him out of Hell.

 

"With nearly everything in life, there's always an end to it, you know? You can go to college, you can get a job away from here, move somewhere where you don't have to wait for two strangers to come to town to see a normal relationship." He glanced up to see the angel was practically devouring the dessert they were to share. "Just be sure you keep in touch with someone back here so people don't worry." Just a regular phone call from Sam would probably have helped Dean during the time his brother was at Stanford. "Been on the other end of that, and it isn't fun.

 

"Look, what it boils down to..." Dean snagged a piece of the tiramisu, because Cas was making quick work of the dessert. "Friend of mine once said you can get through anything for a few months." Trevor gave Dean an odd look as the hunter spoke around the mouthful of dessert. "I didn't say it would be a great pep-talk or anything. I just promised Emma I'd at least talk to you."

 

"But the two of you," Trevor said, "you two are happy?"

 

It wasn't Dean who spoke this time, but Cas. "Very happy." The angel looked it, too.


	10. Wolf in Sheep's Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to take down at least one skinwalker.

_"And thus I clothe my naked villany/ With odd old ends stolen out of holy writ/ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."_

_William Shakespeare, Richard III_

 

Bobby normally liked a feisty woman, but the fact that Emma was insistent upon being present while they "inspected" her new pet was irritating him to no end. If this thing turned out to be a skinwalker, a little crate probably wouldn't do much to stop it from attacking, and most likely, it would go after the jewelry maker rather than the two hunters.

 

"I could help you keep Leia calm." She twirled her key ring around her finger as they stood outside her apartment door.

 

"We're trained professionals, Miss Wennerstrand," Bobby attempted to assure her. "We can keep her calm just fine."

 

"Let's try a different tack here," Emma said as she smiled confidently at Bobby. "Though I like Dean and Cas a lot, I don't know either of you well enough to leave you alone in my house, alone with my dog to do a procedure without me present. I'm coming in with you, and if you have a problem with that, I don't honestly care." The woman was not much shorter than Bobby, but she might as well have been as big as Sam. She was obviously going to be just as unmovable.

 

Both hunters replied "Fine" in unison, and Bobby assumed they were both hoping this wasn't going to be a problem. The older man, however, had his doubts. Nothing specifically that Dr. Roth had done had been wrong, and all of the paperwork checked out that these were two different animals, but in Bobby's experience, they were never two different animals.

 

Emma finally opened the door to her apartment and let them both inside. "So how is it you landed in the CDC and your brother in the FBI?" she asked as she walked through the adjoining kitchen and living area. "Are you just really fond of acronyms in your family, or is there another reason you both ended up working for the government?"

 

"Our dad was in the Marines," Sam answered. Bobby noted the haphazard way the woman's jewelry was scattered in various states of completion across the living room. Typical creative type. "I guess that always influenced my brother and me."

 

"Did either of you serve, yourselves?" Emma asked as she led them through the hallway.

 

"No. I was never quite cut out for the military," Sam said, though that was a laugh. Both brothers had practically received military training from childhood. Dean more so than Sam, but the younger of the two would still have put most marines to shame. "And, well, Dean wouldn't have done well with the whole 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy."

 

Bobby gave Sam an odd look, but he noticed that Emma readily accepted the explanation. Dean was probably going to kick his baby brother's ass when he found out that Sam was snagging the woman he obviously had a thing for right out underneath him. Especially when he found out how. And yet, it didn't look like Sam was the reason for her misunderstanding.

 

It wasn't as though Bobby could blame her for questioning Dean. On his own, the older Winchester didn't come across as anything but straight--at least, Bobby didn't think so, but he'd never really thought on it. The problem always presented itself whenever Sam or Cas--especially Cas--was with him. With Sam, Dean's overprotective nature and familiarity combined with the connection those boys had from all the hell, figuratively and literally, they'd gone through together read as something the average person couldn't quite place as a brotherly bond. It was certainly more than normal, but nothing like what people assumed. Cas was a whole problem in himself, because both he and Dean were protective of one another, because Dean had an ease with the angel that he didn't have with others, and because Cas just didn't understand normal human social interaction, so he stared and he stood too close. Now, he was helping Dean care for Johnny, and the two were well on their way to being completely doting on the boy. Bobby would have laughed if it wouldn't have seemed out of place at that moment.

 

Then the seriousness of the situation raised its head as he could hear a faint whimpering from behind one of the doors in the hallway. Emma let them into her laundry room, which would put them in close quarters, but hopefully prevent the skinwalker, if the dog proved to be one, from getting away.

 

"Hi, Leia girl." The dog greeted Emma the way anyone would expect it to, wagging its tail and offering a few happy little barks. Then it saw Bobby and Sam and its entire demeanor changed. This was not your average dog. Bobby could see that spark of intelligence as it went on guard against the two hunters.

 

"Emma, we're going to need you to keep back," Sam said in the polite yet authoritative voice that only he seemed to possess. Bobby usually came across as too polite while Dean only demanded and Cas commanded.

 

The blonde nodded and Bobby discreetly retrieved a slim silver knife from his coat pocket. In the process of trying to prevent the woman from seeing it, he had unintentionally allowed the skinwalker a clear view of it. Immediately, the Pomeranian's body began shifting and growing, making the cage creak. Emma moved back against the washer, watching in horror.

 

The problem was that during the transformation, he couldn't get a good shot at the thing's heart, not through the wires of the cage. It was not designed for anything beyond a medium-sized dog, and the red-headed woman inside was more than medium-sized. Buck naked and strong as hell, she popped the side and tore her way out, going at the person Bobby had expected from the moment they entered the apartment with the young woman.

 

In an understandable state of shock, Emma tried to get away, but the thing was quick, even with the gashes that the frayed wires had cut into its skin. The skinwalker grabbed Emma across her shoulders and held her to its front as a human shield. Sam had his gun out, loaded with silver bullets, but the creature had been too fast and now had the protection of Emma between them.

 

"What you're going to do," the skinwalker said as it peeked its head from behind Emma's, "is let me and blondie here get out of this apartment."

 

"So that, what, you can kill her like you did Mrs. Butler?" Sam asked. "I don't think so."

 

"I promised my alpha I would control myself, and I am."

 

"Alpha?" Bobby asked as he tried to think of a way to pry Emma away from the strong creature.

 

"Not that one," the thing growled. "You killed him. Our pack alpha. I promised to stay in control after my last slip-up. I was going to, too. Wasn't going to bite this little thing without my alpha's orders."

 

"Bite me?" Emma asked, sounding a little afraid but equally pissed off. Bobby thought he could very well like this girl if given the chance. "What the hell?"

 

And before Bobby or Sam knew how to react, Emma snapped her head back to meet with the thing's nose, then twisted herself out of the skinwalker's grip. Bobby recognized it as a move taught to women in self-defense classes, and he was fairly surprised that it had worked. Emma wasn't trying to take the monster on. She was, thankfully, leaving that up to the professionals.

 

Sam made quick work of the creature, shooting it twice in the heart. Well, that was one skinwalker down for certain, and God only knew how many more to go. The nude female body collapsed to the floor, and Bobby was left to contemplate the fact that this particular group of skinwalkers seemed to have a very obvious chain of command, complete with alpha. And they knew about their Alpha and the Mother. So not only were they going to have a hell of a lot of monsters to deal with, they were going to be even more pissed off than usual.

 

Great.

 

"What the hell was that and who the hell are you two really?" Emma asked. Bobby had known the question was coming, but he also knew he was going to let Sam field it. They had clean-up to do, and that meant calling Cas.

 

#

 

"He recognized me for what I am instantly," Herman said as he watched his alpha pace the room. Despite a human form, his leader demonstrated many animal tendencies when left alone with pack members.

 

"You are sure it was the angel?"

 

"He was dressed differently, but looked much as he had in Mother's final memories." The alpha snarled at the mention of their mother's death. "Most interestingly, however, is that it had a child with it."

 

"A child?" By the smile Herman saw forming on the other's face, he knew that he wasn't the only one to see the potential in that information. "It couldn't possibly be the angel's, could it?"

 

"Better yet. I suspect it to be Dean Winchester's. Or that he at least believes it to be his. Both their scents were all over it." Mother had wanted them to recognize the enemy when they encountered it and had been good enough to her children to ingrain the scents of Singer, the Winchesters and the angel into every creature's scent memory.

 

"This is good. Very good." A slender hand carded through Herman's hair. "Though I am very proud of you for providing this information, I have a very important part for you to play."

 

#

 

"A _skinwalker_?" Emma asked as she stared at Sam like he'd grown another head. He'd explained this all to her, but she was having the perfectly normal response of struggling to believe that such creatures can even exist. She had questioned about the gun and Bobby's knife, and they had both explained the reaction these animals had to silver. She had made the connection to werewolves, had asked the normal questions, but every so often, this question would resurface again.

 

Sam just nodded his head and gave her a small smile. He thought she had understood it all by now, but apparently, her brain was running on some sort of loop. At least, he assumed so until her next question.

 

"And Dean and Cas, they bring their child along to hunt?"

 

They really didn't need the local Department of Children and Family Services breathing down their neck for a child that Dean had only recently inherited--which was a better thought than that Cas had kidnapped. Which meant telling Emma something to calm her down.

 

"Dean only just got custody of Johnny. That's what this trip was for, originally, getting custody of him from his mother." Sam smiled. "Dean isn't exactly going to take his son hunting. That was the life we had, and neither of us want to see it repeated with Johnny."

 

"You went on hunts with your father? How old were you?"

 

"Younger than Johnny, sort of. Dad had friends to take care of Dean and me, then as I got older, it was Dean taking care of me." Sam smiled wistfully as he realized that his brother had always been stuck as a parent. "As for having Johnny here right now, you'll have to take my word on it that Dean will keep him safe, and if he couldn't, Cas definitely will. Cas is a lot stronger than you might think."

 

"So it was all a coincidence?" Emma asked.

 

He nodded. "As much as anything with us is a coincidence." He tentatively reached up to the back of her head. Her hair wasn't necessarily soft, but it was smooth beneath his hand. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

 

The blonde turned slightly pink and shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Glad my dad made me take those self-defense classes now. Man, what I wouldn't give to tell him they finally paid off."

 

Sam moved his hand away and gave the woman an understanding smile. "Your father passed away?"

 

She nodded and gave a small, sad smile in return. "Pancreatic cancer last year," she said. "I swear, he'd always wanted to go out like a hero. He'd been in the army and the reserves until he was old enough to retire. He hated just wasting away."

 

"Losing a father to a hero's death isn't all it's cracked up to be," Sam assured her.

 

"Is that how your father went?" she asked, placing her thin hand over his larger one.

 

"Five years ago." He turned his hand so that hers was now resting in his palm. "He did it to save Dean's life, and for as much as I loved my Dad, I know I can't really function without my brother."

 

"You two must be very close." Sam tried very hard not to think of how nicely her daintier hand fit in his larger one as he nodded in response.

 

There was a moment of silence as they just sat holding hands before she gave him a very earnest look. "It gets easier, though? Losing a parent?" She had that look in her eyes, the one he'd seen in Dean's, in his own when he looked in the mirror during that first year. It's that moment when the wound is healing slightly, but still sore enough to cause enough pain that it almost feels fresh again.

 

"Sometimes. Some days it doesn't hurt so much and you may not even think about him being gone, and others you see something, do something that you want to just call him up, or you think about what he would have done in a certain situation. And the ache can come back as strong as the day he died." Sam gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "But those second situations get further and further apart."

 

Emma gave him a small smile and a quiet, watery "thank you."

 

"I can only imagine what he'd have done if he realized that there were bigger game to hunt than just deer and bear," she said. "Knowing him, he'd have immediately started melting down my silver jewelry to make silver buckshot..." She paused a moment and looked at a silver medallion sitting on the armrest of the sofa beside her. "Though, that's not such a bad idea."


	11. All Comes Crashing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is left alone with Johnny and this thoughts.

_"Until you have a son of your own ... you will never know the sense of honor that makes a man want to be more than he is and pass something good and hopeful into the hands of his son. And you will never know the heartbreak of the fathers who are haunted by the personal demons that keep them from being the men they want their sons to be."_

_Kent Nergern, Letters to My Son_

Dean found himself in the hotel with a slightly fussy baby-by Johnny's standards, at least; kid didn't actually  _fuss_  because it had never done him any good before with his bitch mother-who had not been satisfied with just the rice cereal. Cas was on his way to Emma's, and Dean knew the angel would have to take enough time and make enough of a show of cleaning up her place so that she wouldn't get suspicious. Though she was apparently handling the whole skinwalker attack remarkably well, Dean wasn't sure she would cope so well with an angel zapping away the evidence. Bobby was busy investigating the dog park, speaking to a few of the owners and observing the animals for other potential skinwalkers they could track that night.

Dean had been left with the laptop and phone to find out the professor's address and any other necessary information so they could observe his dog's movements tonight. But Dean wasn't getting much of anything done at the moment as Johnny whimpered in the crib and he stood shaking a bottle of formula.

He considered just handing it to the baby, but he couldn't bring himself to do that, not knowing that Johnny's mother had fed him that way for much of his short life. Besides, Johnny liked human contact, so who was Dean to deny that to him? After all, if he could sit down, he could more or less support Johnny with just one arm while he looked up this professor. Even though Sam had taught him the proper way to type, Dean was still a pro at hunt and peck for nearly everything, especially something short like this; he was going to be looking up one address, not trying to write the next Great American Novel. So, he picked the baby up and cradled him in his left arm while he offered the bottle with his right.

"Well, little guy, you're getting one hell of an introduction to the life of a Winchester. Ten months old and already on a hunt." It made Dean half sick to think that the skinwalker in the park had seen his boy and might have gotten his son's scent. This time, the whole situation had been entirely accidental, but the danger to even the smallest member of their family was something Dean knew he'd have to accept eventually because things like this came with the territory of being a Winchester.

The list of those things wasn't an especially short one, but somewhere between "angels and demons will fuck up your life" and "you'll do stupid crap for family" was the rule that "your life will end up in danger, no matter how hard anyone tries.." It didn't mean he wanted that for Johnny so young-not at all, really.

It bothered him most that he had only been a parent for all of three days before he had placed Johnny in danger. His father had made it years with Sammy-that Dean knew of-and the first instance he could actually think of had been that Shtriga, so really, the only reason the younger of the brothers had been in danger was because he'd been left in another's care-in Dean's care.

But Johnny hadn't actually been in danger, not really. Dean had left him with Cas, the one member of their merry little band that was genuinely capable of removing Johnny entirely from harm's way. Dean, Sam, Bobby, they'd have all tried their best and they would have guarded him, but it would have been a gamble, not a sure thing that Johnny would be safe. Cas could pop out in case of immediate peril, get Johnny instantly back to the motel, or Bobby's house.

Cas was, in more ways than one, responsible for why Dean had said yes to fatherhood. Not only had the manipulative winged bastard shown him the kid's soul and assured the hunter that the beautiful, heartwrenching thing was similar to Dean's own, but he knew the angel could help protect Johnny in a way Dean couldn't do on his own. Cas had promised, more than once over the last few days, to help him through this and support Dean in caring for Johnny. There was no doubt in Dean's mind that his friend meant every word of it.

But Cas wouldn't always be around to keep Johnny safe. And there was a hell of a lot more to raising a child than just keeping it alive and unmaimed. Dean understood that, though he didn't know how well he could achieve it for his son.

_My son_.

There was a phrase that was going to take some getting used to. He'd awkwardly tried to describe Ben that way before, but he'd never said it outright. Though he'd been close with the boy and both Ben and Lisa had tried to include him as much as possible, it was inevitable that he would feel like a stepfather at times. More than once Ben had gotten angry enough to throw up the "You're not my real father!" line, though he'd always apologized after and told Dean that he wished he were.

But Johnny? He'd seen the kid's soul, and he had an angel telling him he would be a good father to this boy. He was going to get to be there from nearly the beginning, and even though he was sure that his brother and Bobby found this as absurd and reckless as he did, he sort of liked the thought. While Sam had always had loftier goals of getting out of hunting, going to school and becoming a lawyer, Dean had only ever wanted one thing, though he'd thought it more impossible than Sam's dreams. Having a family and being a hunter didn't mesh. Their father and every hunter's kid they had ever met had been proof of that. How quickly Dean, himself, had derailed into John Winchester-isms with Ben was, too.

So while Johnny was a sort of wish granted for Dean, he also presented a whole host of problems beyond just being a new father. He made Dean worry about possible futures that no man should have to consider for his son. This boy was going to be his, and the last thing he wanted was to know there was another broken man walking around with the name Winchester. Johnny would  _not_  be the typical hunter's kid. Dean would see him adopted into a nice, normal family first.

Dean didn't have much of an example of a long-term father figure dealing with children appropriately. Bobby had been there as much as his father had allowed, but there would be months between visits before the big blow-up that kept him out of their lives for years. The rest of the time, it had been just John, Sam and Dean, or more often, just Sam and Dean. When his father had been around, he drank or he planned or he trained; if Sam got hurt or went missing, well, Dean had paid dearly; and when he'd been concerned about his family's safety, his father had taught his sons-Dean much earlier than Sam-how to defend themselves and kill. He didn't want to follow that pattern and would do everything he could not to become 'Sir' more often than 'Dad.'

And what if he did his best, like he had with Sam and his son hated him for it the way Sam still resented their father? Would Johnny become the sort of adult whose fondest childhood memories included the times he got away? That still stung, even two years later. Just thinking about it was like salt poured on an open wound and reminded him why he had been so quick to throw away the amulet.

Yet, Sam was probably the best case scenario. God help Johnny if he turned out like him. Blindly following orders, most of the time feeling worthless, certain his father had a favorite and it wasn't him, finding out that he probably wasn't even a close second because there had been another son who didn't even have to live like a fucking hunter... And what if the kid turned out to be a hunter? How old would he be when he made his first kill?

And even if Johnny wasn't doomed to repeat Dean's past, he could very well learn about it. There were plenty of demons who would love nothing more than to harm Dean through his child. He couldn't blame them, either. After everything he did... There were a host of new demons who would be after Dean's blood.

_"Really, Sweetie? You don't remember me? I usually leave a better impression on men. And I thought we had something special, Dean."_

Dean shuddered at the memory of the voice that had been haunting his dreams the last few weeks.

He looked down at the baby in his arms, and while he wasn't sure he could part with the boy, not after what Cas had done, he found himself on the verge of a panic attack just at the thought of how many ways he could screw the kid up. How even the knowledge of what Dean had done could fuck him up for life.

#

Castiel was prepared to do this clean-up properly. He had already forced the skinwalker's body back into dog form and was in the process of moving the blood elsewhere. Sam had explained when the angel had arrived that it would be best for the body to be in the road and hit by a car as a cover for the real reason for its death. Apparently, Emma had signed an agreement in which she promised to take care of the dog and report back to the shelter about medical treatments.

To save her any trouble from the local animal control authorities, Sam had suggested that Castiel do his best to replicate a car accident. He would carry the body out of the apartment, then wait for a car to come and place it in the road in front of the first oncoming vehicle. It was not a difficult task, it merely took a little patience. He had once had a great deal of it, though his time among the Winchesters had reduced his ability to wait dutifully immensely.

Any patience he might have possessed dissipated quickly when his bond with Dean signaled that the man was in distress. The angel had left their connection far more open than he normally did, not that Dean was aware he was so open to Castiel, making the link considerably stronger than Dean probably would have liked, but it was to ensure Johnny's safety. He was fairly certain that the hunter wouldn't mind in this instance.

Castiel quickly dismissed the "dog" to the front road and made it look like it had been hit by a car. He only barely remembered that Emma was still in her front room and that he could not simply pop out of the apartment with no explanation. That didn't mean, however, that he would linger long enough for more than a very quick good-bye.

He quickly moved through the apartment, and as he passed Sam and Emma, he said simply. "Your pet is on the front road. I recommend you run out and look unhappy when you find it."

Emma looked at him curiously, but he was gone before she could ask a question like, "what do you mean?" or "how did you do that when the only exit is right here?" Castiel could hear Sam yelling after him, asking him what was wrong, but the moment he was outside on the small porch of Emma's upstairs apartment, he vanished.

He found Dean and Johnny looking relatively unharmed, which only served to raise more questions than it answered. Yet, he knew he had sensed worry and fear from Dean. He  _still_  sensed it.

The hunter looked up, now accustomed to Castiel's sudden arrivals, not to mention surprisingly perceptive enough to sense when the angel came to him; it was rare that he managed to get the jump on the hunter anymore. "You finished quickly," he said before Castiel could ask what was wrong.

"I sensed your distress," he answered. Though it appeared there had been no actual harm to his charge or his son, that didn't mean the angel would let this go without comment. "But the body's disposal has been taken care of."

Dean opened his mouth, either to explain what Castiel had sensed or to get angry that the angel had once again been lurking in his head. Castiel never found out which it was, as Dean's a loud guitar wail signaled that Dean's phone was ringing, which interrupted the man's train of thought.

He fished it out of his pocket, careful not to disturb Johnny as he did. "Hey, Sammy." Dean gave Castiel an odd look as Sam very likely described his sudden departure from Emma's home. "Yeah. He's here. Guess he was being nosy and picked up on me having a well-deserved, but time-delayed freakout about being a dad. How's the girl doing, by the way, you asshole?"

Castiel didn't know what Sam said in return, but just in talking to him, Dean was visibly relaxing. "You could have corrected her, you know." He readjusted Johnny so he was resting against the hunter's chest. "I thought about it, but considering she wanted 'the wife' and I to make the kid at the restaurant feel better about being gay, I couldn't exactly freak out about it. Kid was watching us, and he reminded me a little of you at that age. Couldn't exactly let mini-Sam down."

Dean paused and listened to whatever it was Sam was saying on the other end. "Sure he did. You're just too close to the situation to see it." He wore a smirk for a moment as Sam was likely sputtering for a reply. Castiel could not make out the words that followed, but the tone from the older Winchester was smug. "Dude, Cas and I met her while we were shopping for the kid, and you know how he is with personal space. I'd be more surprised if she didn't think we were gay for each other."

Dean let out a bark of a laugh that made the angel smile, though he was quick to muffle it back to a snicker so as not to wake the baby. Castiel was pleased that his charge had calmed at least slightly and that worry he'd experienced had begun to fade. That he had hoped to relieve the man's stress himself was pushed to the furthest recesses of the angel's mind. The results mattered here, not who brought them about.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Bitch." Dean waited a moment-probably for the obligatory "Jerk" from Sam-before he hung up.

"So..." Dean said as he set the phone down on the table in front of him. "You were nosing around in my head again."

"You had Johnny," Castiel replied. "I make no apologies for using our bond to make certain he is safe."

"There's no reason to be defensive. I'm surprisingly OK with it."

"You were very troubled earlier. I believed Johnny was in danger." Sitting down for a chat was not an action that came naturally to him, but he sat on the nearest bed anyway. He knew this would make Dean more inclined to speak about what had caused him such distress earlier, if he would at all. Castiel knew better than to assume the man would talk. It would merely increase the slight odds that he may.

"Will you be able to do that? Tap into my head or the kid's to know if he's in danger?"

"You will be no trouble. My grace left its mark on you." Some of it had even remained behind, but given Dean's distaste for all things angelic, he thought it best not to mention that. He instead turned his focus on the boy now resting on Dean's chest. "Johnny's soul is very similar to yours, but without the taint of the demon blood that repels me as happens with Sam. I assume it would be as easy for me to track him as it is to do with Bobby." Perhaps simpler, since Johnny was not at a point in his life where he would fight the angel's presence as Bobby would.

Castiel noted as he looked at the hunter that Dean's had moved from Johnny's back to the mark that he still bore on his shoulder. As soon as the man realized he'd been caught, his hand resumed its soothing presence at his son's back.

"There may be times I cannot respond, however. As I couldn't save Jo or Ellen due to the holy fire. Or if I were to find myself engaged in another battle in heaven." He did not imagine the latter of those two scenarios would occur again in Johnny's lifetime. For the first time in centuries, millennia, perhaps, order and leadership had begun to take hold in heaven. "Or if I should find myself cut off once again.

"Those are all extreme situations, which would not be necessary to mention, if we didn't have an existence of such extremes."

Dean let out a snort. "That's one hell of a way to put it."

"I believe that Balthazar would help. Metatron as well, if I asked him. They each have an affinity to humanity." The angel saw a frown appearing on Dean's face. "I will introduce you to Metatron before it becomes an issue."

"I'd appreciate it," Dean said. "I don't want the kid spending time around dick angels if I can avoid it. Balthazar would be fine, I guess. In small doses. Really small. But let's just keep you away from the rings of fire."

The hunter stood and carried Johnny over to the crib. He was careful, surprisingly natural as he lowered the baby to his bed.

"That was the source of your worry? Whether or not I would be present to protect Johnny?" Castiel tried to pretend that something in him wasn't warmed by the idea that Dean had such faith in him that he counted on the angel to protect his family. For the self-reliant hunter, admitting a need for help of any kind was staggering in its enormity.

The hunter took a seat beside the angel and stared at the wall and door to the hotel. "Among other things."

"You are worried about his safety and your ability to be a father," Castiel stated. He had no need to ask.

"You know that Johnny's safe, so why are you still poking around in my head," Dean groused.

"There is no need for me to be in your head to know this, Dean. You are projecting." Blue eyes scanned the hunched figure beside him. He had seen Dean or Sam occasionally offer some form of physical touch as a form of comfort when one or the other was troubled. Castiel considered doing the same, but he wasn't sure how, didn't know if it would be welcomed, and instead he purposely folded his hands between his knees and leaned forward so that his forearms could rest upon his legs.

Dean's body then moved to mirror Castiel's own. The slumped posture suited the hunter's mood, which created a dismal aura throughout the room. The man's knee touched the angel's as he shifted further forward, then scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "I don't exactly have the best examples of a full-time father."

The angel offered a small smirk as he glanced to his side. "I can relate." That earned him a huff of laughter. "But I would not have brought Johnny to you if I didn't believe in you, Dean. You should never have had to do so, but you raised Sam on your own, and he is a credit to your efforts as both brother and father." Dean opened his mouth to argue otherwise.

"Sam had his issues, to be certain, but you can hardly take the blame for what fate, Azazel and your father's relationship with him have done to Sam." The angel knew that the Winchester patriarch was not solely a bad influence. Otherwise, he could not have produced two sons like Sam and Dean. "That Sam has happy memories of his childhood, a sense of consistency and someone to act as his bedrock, that's on you, Dean."

Awkwardly, he moved his left hand to rest on Dean's knee and give it a reassuring-at least he hoped so-squeeze. "If you doubt that, ask Sam about the amulet." Dean gave him an odd look, and since Castiel wasn't sure if it was about the sudden contact or the mention of the long-vanished amulet, or both, he removed his hand from the man's leg. It was the only thing of the two he could fix.

As for the other, he knew was that the amulet was Sam's story to tell.


	12. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is on for Bobby, Cas and the Winchesters.

_"Problem solving is hunting. It is savage pleasure and we are born to it."_

_Thomas Harris, Silence of the Lambs_

Sam supposed it made sense that Bobby would stay with Emma, though he had to admit to wanting to spend a little more time with the woman. He wasn't the only one who seemed torn with leaving Bobby and Emma behind; since there was a possibility that the skinwalkers might try to attack Emma, someone-Cas-was going to need to observe her apartment to kill and/or track those monsters. To follow the skinwalker they  _knew_  about, it made more sense for Dean and Sam to trace it back to the rest of the sleeper cell and this alpha.

This meant leaving Johnny behind, and neither his brother or the angel was at all pleased with that turn of events. They were both visibly anxious at the thought, and the baby seemed more than a little unsure as the angel and elder Winchester were edging toward the door. The unease was to be expected on Dean's face, but Sam wasn't sure he'd seen Cas look so apprehensive before. For once, the angel was an open book, even to Sam who normally couldn't read him even half as well as Dean. Though Cas had insisted that Dean was Johnny' father, it was fairly obvious that Johnny was going to grow up with two of them. The expression on Cas's face was not that of a worried uncle.

"Please call for me at the first sign of trouble," Cas said, giving Bobby and Johnny another worried look.

"I've been watching out for these two since before they even popped onto your radar," Bobby replied. His word choice had been careful, since no one was quite willing to divulge to Emma that the quiet accountant-like man was actually a heavenly being. "Don't worry about me or the kid. Just don't get yourself killed."

"I don't believe that is really something I will be concerned about." Sam wanted to laugh at the expression on Cas's face. It was somewhere between confused and indignant. The combination left him looking slightly constipated. Dean must have thought the same, but did not have the same restraint that Sam exerted, as he was busy snorting at his brother's side.

Almost as though he could read Dean's mind-and he probably could-Cas glared at the elder Winchester.

The three eventually left Bobby and Emma alone with the baby. Cas looked at Dean with all seriousness. "What I told Bobby applies to you as well."

"Never expected otherwise, Buddy." Dean offered Cas a few solid pats on his upper arm before the angel popped away to monitor Emma's apartment. Dean and Sam, in the meantime, took the Impala to stake out the professor's home.

"So, you feeling better after your 'well-deserved freakout?'" Sam asked as an opening. He could swear his brother had wanted to talk to him since they'd all arrived back at the motel, but since Emma had come along with Sam and Bobby, the two brothers hadn't had any opportunity. That had left Sam to guess about what it was that was on his brother's mind. It didn't appear Dean was going to go at him for going along with Emma's assumption that Dean was gay; the man had been surprisingly mature about that. He also seemed slightly more at ease about Johnny.

With his top two reasons eliminated, Sam could only guess what it was Dean needed to talk about.

"Yeah. You calling and Cas coming helped."

"You're a natural Dad, you know that, right?" Sam asked, keeping an eye on the man currently letting the Impala coast into an open spot on the quiet street.

"So everyone says. Cas even said that if I needed reassurance on that ... I should ask you about the amulet."

Just the mention of the amulet stung. He knew that the trip to heaven, seeing some of Sam's favorite memories were among Dean's worst, had hurt the elder Winchester more than Sam could have even expected. Which is what had made it so painful when he'd watched his brother toss an amulet into the trash. Sam didn't want to start thinking like a woman, but it had felt a little like Dean was throwing a part of him in that trash can as well. It had also made the guilt of the whole experience all the more bitter; unless he was really hurt, Dean would never have tossed that necklace away for anything.

"Did he tell you why?" Sam asked, glancing at his brother, who seemed to be purposely looking up at the professor's house. It wasn't exactly surprising that Dean was doing his very best to keep his eyes anywhere but on Sam.

"He didn't outright, no," Dean said. The man's hand absentmindedly slid down to rub his knee; he didn't seem to even be paying attention to what he was doing. "He more or less hinted that it was your story to tell."

"I don't know there's really anything to tell," Sam said, and he watched his brother's shoulders visibly slump. There was no doubt that his brother regretted what he'd done and he'd been hoping to get it back. Even if he hadn't shown the regret, Sam still would have reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled the amulet from its place against his chest.

Dean must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to face Sam and take note of what the taller man was pulling from under the red t-shirt he wore beneath the button-up shirt. "You fished it out of the trash?" he asked, and though Sam knew his brother would never admit it, emotion had choked those words.

Sam nodded and pulled the leather cord over his head. He looked down at the brass face now resting in his palm. "I hid it at Bobby's after I decided to let Lucy wear me to prom," he said with a wry grin. "I thought you might find it, or Bobby might and get it to you. But you didn't and he didn't, and I obviously didn't give a shit about it without my soul. Once Death brought me back whole, I got it out of that little cubby in Bobby's fireplace."

"After all that, I guess it's yours now," Dean said, his eyes never fully leaving the amulet, though they did occasionally dart up to Sam's face. The younger brother wondered if this was what it had been like for Dean, when Sam had  _really_  wanted that last bowl of Lucky Charms, even though Dean hadn't gotten one yet, and it was really his right to have that last bowl, but his younger brother was too busy giving him  _that_  look.

"I didn't hang onto it for me," Sam said, grabbing his brother's wrist with his left hand and forcing Dean's hand to turn palm-up. Sam's right placed the amulet still warm with the younger man's body heat into his brother's awaiting palm. "I was waiting for you to ask for it back."

"After all this time?" He was obviously in a state of disbelief.

"I'd have been handing it over to you in the old hunter's home while you were busy trying to convince the young nurses to give your wrinkly ass a spongebath if that's when you asked for it," Sam said and watched with a smile as his brother moved the dark leather over his head and adjusted it only momentarily so that the amulet hung in its proper place around his neck.

It was amazing the effect that the amulet had on the older hunter. It was as though Sam had just returned a missing limb to him, and maybe in some ways he had. "I thought this was gone," he said, placing a hand over the brass idol. "I've been kicking myself for the last two years."

"Yeah," Sam said. He knew this was an apology in Dean-speak. "Figured I might as well keep it. Thought eventually you'd get your head out of your ass and ask about it." In Winchester language, Sam had just told him he accepted the apology and had kept the amulet for so long as an apology of his own. Sometimes they needed to talk things out. Other times like now, it was perfectly clear.

#

Bobby wasn't entirely sure what to say to the twentysomething woman now in his care. Dean had already provided them with a large pizza, the thing was loaded with more heavy toppings than Bobby would have expected from the seemingly dainty jewelry-maker. She obviously had no issue with the amount of bacon, Italian sausage or pepperoni any more than Bobby was complaining about the peppers, onions or black olives.

And it wasn't just the pizza that made her tolerable, either. When Bobby had returned to Emma's apartment earlier, he'd found her melting down some of the silver for her jewelry and actually making buckshot with it. Turned out the girl was a hunter-the normal kind-and had some of her dad's old stuff. She had looked like such a delicate little flower when they first met that Bobby would have bet money they'd be stuck protecting the damsel in distress, yet she had already showed a quick mind and an ability to handle herself.

She looked a little less breakable now that she was sitting at small table in the hotel room kitchenette. Her blond hair was pulled back into a tight braid that didn't look to be going anywhere and she had donned a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and what looked to have been her dad's old olive drab fatigue coat. She didn't appear to own any boots that weren't "cute" and had opted instead for a pair of running shoes. The only signs of the girl that Bobby had met earlier that day was the light make-up that remained on her face and the lace-like print that had been painted onto her carefully manicured nails.

Emma was also making quick work of the pizza that could have put Dean to shame.

"You're close to them, Sam and Dean, aren't you?" she asked, looking up from Johnny, who was busy looking at a colorful set of plastic keys. Her dark brown eyes were focused on the older hunter's face as she took another bite of the pizza.

"Known 'em since they were kids," Bobby said. "They're like my own, if I had any."

"They were raised to this? Hunting monsters?"

"More or less," he answered, wondering where this was going.

"And now Dean is going to raise his son the same way?" she asked, giving Johnny a warm and surprisingly protective glance.

"Well, it's not like it was for Dean and Sam. Getting away, going to someone else wouldn't have changed anything. Those boys had big targets painted on their backs from before they were even born. Going to stay with someone else or their Dad not being part of the hunt wouldn't have made them any safer."

Didn't mean that John couldn't have let them stay with Bobby a little more often, given that Bobby had always maintained a home base and had the skills to protect them. That was still a bitter point; it had been the cause of their biggest fight, the one that ended with Bobby getting a split lip and a black eye and shooting warning shots in John's general direction. (No matter what Dean thought, he wasn't  _actually_  trying to hurt the Winchester patriarch.)

"And the bullseyes are gone now?" she asked.

"As much as they can be. It's why they stay at my place. Ask either of the boys. I'm a paranoid bastard." Johnny was looking up at him with those big green eyes. Bobby turned his attention back down to the boy. "And don't you go repeating that word and getting me into trouble. Got it, kid?"

He was certain Johnny didn't know what he was talking about, but he was going to be sure all the same. The poor boy was probably going to learn how to swear in multiple languages before he learned the most basic words and phrases. That was inevitable with Dean as a father and Bobby as a grandfather.

And despite himself, that smile appeared once again. He really shouldn't have been so easily swayed by the idea of having a grandson, but he really was. If only his wife could see him now. She had been right about him all along. He wasn't a half-bad father, even if he hadn't been around to do it full-time.

The baby caught his smile and shyly returned it. Bobby had yet to hold the kid and the look that Johnny was giving him was telling him that he wanted to be picked up off the floor. Callused hands found their place at either side of the baby's ribs and gently lifted him onto a jean-covered knee. It didn't come as naturally to him as it seemed to have done with Dean, but he found himself surprisingly comfortable with Johnny's weight on his leg and his little body in his hands.

"I know you're worried about the kid, I get that." Johnny had a very confused look on his face as his cautious hand inched closer to Bobby's beard. "But he's got the very best protection a person could ask for. You don't know any of us from Adam, but take our word that he's got some powerful friends on his side- Ow!" The baby had given a sharp tug to Bobby's beard, but the instant that the hunter had cried out in pain, Johnny froze.

Bobby could see the baby's bottom lip trembling, and he was quick to bring the boy to his chest as he had seen both Dean and Cas do to soothe the baby's uncertainty. He whispered a few nonsensical things into the child's ear to try to prevent the child from crying. Not only did he want Johnny to be at ease with him, but he wasn't quite sure how tuned in the angel was to the baby's needs. Sam had explained how Cas had flown out-almost literally-of Emma's apartment to get to Dean because the new father had finally done a little panicking about his new role. Bobby really didn't want to be the cause of a vengeful angel appearing in the middle of the blue and turquoise hotel room.

He glanced up to see Emma giving him a smile before she took a healthy bite of the pizza's crust.

#

Dean had been expecting to watch a human escaping the professor's house. One had obviously opened the back door, but the person-male from what Dean could see-had remained in shadow the entire time. What actually went through, however, was a large Collie. That it had gone to such effort not to have its human form seen only served to prove that it knew they were there.

Dean signaled to his brother to keep his eyes out for other skinwalkers. Sam nodded in understanding. He didn't doubt that Dean would cause the creature some very serious hurt before he killed it if it made its way back to the hotel or if it had somehow informed other skinwalkers about Johnny. Sam could see the tightening in his brother's jaw, his face set in the anger Dean once only expressed when Sam himself was in danger.

All that Sam could hope was that this was a smooth hunt. His brother seemed happy after just a few days as a father, and even Cas seemed surprisingly at ease most of the time as he cared for the boy. Sam knew that already, some regret was taking hold in both of them, though. Both worried for the baby's safety, but both also worried that his addition was going to make them less effective at hunting.

Cas hadn't said it aloud in so many words, but Sam knew he regretted that he hadn't been able to pursue the skinwalker the moment he'd spotted it at the dog park. He had needed to seek refuge for himself and Johnny, so he hadn't been able to follow the dog walker and the collie back to the professor's home or even check back immediately.

Bobby had already called up the professor about his dog. Apparently, he never left his precious "baby" alone while he was at work. (And Bobby had said the professor referred to his dog the same way Dean talked about his own non-flesh-and-blood "baby.") The dog walker was apparently a mix of dog walker, house keeper, and chef. Quite honestly, Bobby had said, the dog walker Cas had spoken to earlier had sounded like a little more than an employee, save for the fact that Bobby had it on good authority that the good professor was very straight and did quite well with the female students who were not in his own department.

So for now, the two hunters could only believe, or at least hope, that the skinwalker was making his first trip back to the rest of the pack. It was just a matter of not allowing it out of their sight.

They had done a few of these hunts now since they had killed the skinwalker Alpha, and typically, the packs gathered in abandoned buildings or other deserted areas of the towns or cities in which they lived. Which was why Sam was so confused by the fact that this one had taken off like a bat out of hell toward the still-populated Main Street.

"What the fuck is it doing?" Dean hissed as they both took off after the collie. Sam didn't bother to answer and chose to instead maintain pursuit. Heading into a deserted area they could handle, even if it was trying to lure them into a trap they could cope, but a relatively populated area? That was bold.

It certainly was in keeping with the way this pack operated so far. Everything they'd done was different from any of the patterns they were accustomed to. All of the skinwalkers they had met had landed with someone with money, and to some extent Emma counted in that category because her mother was a doctor with a thriving practice in the town and Emma's own jewelry business was doing well. They were obviously being led by something, and they called it an alpha with the same obedience Dean-more so than Sam-had offered their father.

And now, the skinwalker was obviously acting under orders. Which meant it had met up with the alpha at some point over the last few hours, and that the dog walker was lax in his duties in the best of scenarios; the worst scenarios had the dog walker dead or a skinwalker, himself.

Sam's steady pace turned into a stumble at the thought. They were used to skinwalkers who remained in dog form a majority of the time. But this group appeared to have an intelligent leader. What if humans were a viable possibility? Anyone in this town could have been one; well, anyone except Emma. Sam had watched her handle too much silver in making buckshot earlier that day to doubt she was 100 percent human.

Dean glanced back for a minute to make sure his brother was OK, but Sam had recovered and was back to his normal gait, which seemed to reassure his sibling.

Though he didn't share the connection with Cas that Dean did, Sam sent up a silent prayer to the angel, hoping that he would hear his suspicions if Sam projected them loudly enough. There was no reply, not that he had been expecting one, but he couldn't very well call the angel or even Bobby right now. It made no sense until they knew more.

The dog took a sudden turn and hopped atop some boxes and a dumpster to clear a privacy fence surrounding a nearby home. Neither of the hunters had any issue following behind, though Dean's quick leap over had nearly landed him in the nearby pool. After a skidding halt and doing a little flailing with his arms, the older brother stopped himself from faceplanting into the water.

Sam's own leap had been at an angle away from the pool and he was able to follow the monster back over the fence into another yard. He landed in a carefully planted flower garden and said a silent apology to the home's owners before he ran through the fairly large yard and along the side of the house. Though they needed to be able to follow this thing back to its pack, Sam knew that if he managed to get a clear shot, he'd have to take it. He couldn't risk the safety of the people milling about Main Street.

The skinwalker was quick, though, and Sam only managed to catch a glimpse of its tail as it took off down the street. Still, he thought he had a fairly solid eye on it as he his footsteps thudded on the asphalt road. He could hear Dean running behind him, which meant his brother had recovered from his near tumble into the pool and had easily cleared the relatively low chainlink fence. There was no need for Sam to look back. Instead, he charged on ahead after the monster.

The thing darted around another corner at the side of a bed and breakfast. Sam had been in close pursuit, which left him all the more surprised when he saw no sign at all of the skinwalker. He looked around the yard and glanced in the dimly lit windows. He could see only an empty and neglected doghouse, but not the animal that belonged there or the one he'd been chacing. What he did see was a group of people leaving the B&B with suitcases in hand.

From what Sam could see, there was a young couple who looked and acted like they were newlyweds. Though he didn't want to disparage the town, it really didn't seem like anyone's ideal honeymoon location for anyone, but if they were locals they may have been recovering after their wedding or taking a more financially responsible honeymoon. Behind them was a gay couple, the taller of the two supporting the shorter, who looked a little green around the gills. All four were toting suitcases behind them.

"Are you feeling any better?" the woman asked.

"A little," the smaller of the two gay men said as his boyfriend fussed over him. "But I think it's better if we call the cross country tour quits."

"I just wish we didn't have to take the bus to get home."

"We know the feeling," the newlywed man said as they all toted their suitcases down the street. Sam could only stop and listen as they said their goodbyes to someone inside the house that he couldn't see or hear from his current vantage point; it was most likely the owner.

Dean's footsteps approached and Sam merely raised a hand to keep his brother from asking questions and alerting the four to their presence. The two had hunted together long enough that Dean immediately recognized the gesture and stopped, then offered one of his own to ask if they were skinwalkers. Sam nodded-because he was positive that these were not all humans-and raised one finger, then made it two. He wiggled his hand and made it four. The message was clear enough, at least between the brothers, that one skinwalker was now two, maybe four.

Sam wondered about calling Cas, but sadly, the angel would be no more helpful in identifying a skinwalker than they were. Though Cas could easily spot the true face of a demon or some of the more insidious monsters, he could not spot the difference between the various shifters. They were displaying their true forms, or at least, one of them. They may sometimes have a tainted soul, but Cas said that it was rarely any different than a human's who would have committed the same foul acts as the shifter. The discussion had raised a number of questions for Sam as to why, if the monsters' souls weren't so different from humans, they were condemned to purgatory. Dean had once rationalized this aloud by stating that for most of them, it was either purgatory or hell, so what was the difference?

Besides, Cas was watching Emma's for any additional skinwalkers, ones that might not lead him on a wild goose chase downtown.

All the two hunters could do was stay in pursuit. Sam kept his focus mostly on the gay couple, since they were the ones who didn't appear-according to the conversation thus far-to have gotten the chance to actually stay the night at the B&B. But Dean had been here for a few days now, and they might have caught wind of his presence days before. If the skinwalkers were planning an escape while they still could, the "newlyweds" may have been a cover as well.

Or, they could all four be skinwalkers, and both Dean and Sam would be screwed.

That thought quickly vanished from Sam's head as they approached the bus station at the edge of the main area of town. The groom happened to glance over his shoulder at Sam and Dean and quickly shoved the gay men to the ground to take off with his "wife" hot on his heels.

Dean charged on ahead and Sam quickly helped the two men to their feet. "You OK?" he asked, and the couple nodded, looking quite shaken.

It took only a few moments and a little burst of extra speed combined with longer legs for Sam to catch up to his brother. They left the other couple behind, both looking all the more anxious to get out of the town after the encounter. Sam couldn't blame them.

Running now just a few steps behind Dean, Sam noticed that the skinwalkers weren't transforming into dogs. There was very little opportunity to take the time with Sam and Dean so close. Also, while the streets were not crowded by any means-most of the shops were already closed for the night-there were people out and about. The creatures seemed to at least recognize how reckless it would be to make the shift in public.

There was no doubt, though, that he and Dean were being led somewhere.

"This feel like a trap to you?" his brother asked as they ran side-by-side.

Sam only snorted in response. After all, what words were there for realizing you were headed for impending doom and  _not_  turning around to run in the opposite direction?

#

Castiel had finally caught up to the animal that had darted by Emma's apartment building. (Finally wasn't probably the word for it, not if a person was looking from a human perspective. It took only a matter of a few seconds, but that was too long to suit the angel.) Though the difference wasn't immediately obvious from a distance, the moment he placed his palm on the dog's head, Castiel had recognized it as simply that: a dog.

He had been witness to-and often party to-too much of the dealings of the Fates to believe in coincidences, which left him now feeling highly on edge. He and the hunters had suspected these creatures were operating on a level of coordination that hadn't been since since the death of the Alpha last year, but Castiel felt that even that assumption had been an underestimation of their foes.

Reluctantly, Castiel returned to his post guarding Emma's apartment. Dean would notify him-consciously or not-if he was in danger, and if he extended his perception just the slightest bid, Castiel's grace could allow him to sense Johnny. Aside from a small spike from the baby earlier, one that the angel had nearly responded to save for realizing that it had ended quickly and that it hadn't felt that different from the times when Johnny had been frightened by a raised voice or a stranger.

The boy appeared to be safe, and Castiel was needed where he was, at least figuratively he was needed there. He was under the distinct impression that he was on a very pointless assignment and that the skinwalkers intended to keep it that way.

#

On a bus headed for Topeka, two men visibly relaxed against one another in their shared seats. The larger of the two gently carded a hand through the smaller one's sandy hair. "You've had a rough night. Rest a bit."

The smaller man settled against the other's shoulder. He wasn't necessarily arguing, but he did add, "You haven't had an easy one, either. But the plan worked."

They would visit the other alphas that had cropped up to gather small groups of skinwalkers, and they would show these leaders what they had seen in the dog park. Once their nerves settled, they would certainly begin feeling bold. After all, it wasn't everyone who evaded the Winchesters  _and_  their pet angel. Other creatures would tell the story, and it would get more elaborate with each re-telling.

None would ever think it was as simple as a B&B owner who also happened to own and largely neglect her dog. How that free time without his owner had allowed him to become his own lover's dog walker and how they managed to use her failing B&B as a front to create a decoy for the Winchesters to follow... No one would believe it had been that easy. By the time the story was retold through the skinwalker population, the story would involve a heroic battle between the villainous hunters and the long-time couple.

Yet, the couple would always keep it simple. Because they knew well enough to be appreciative for the fact that they had escaped almost certain death that night. Because they knew that the memories locked inside their heads might very well help them stop the creatures' greatest enemies.

For now, they could just enjoy the ride and the company.


	13. You Won't Like Him...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunters have the shapeshifters cornered... or maybe the other way around.

_"If your attack is going too well, you're walking into an ambush."_

_Infantry Journal_

The pounding at the door came as a surprise to Emma, who had just watched Bobby put Johnny down for the night. They had opted to move him to the windowless bathroom. It wasn't an ideal solution, but getting to the bathroom required going through the entire room and getting past both Bobby and Emma. And their guns.

Emma still wasn't sure how easy she would find it to point her gun at something that looked like a human being. She was well aware they weren't human, at least not anymore, and they probably wanted to see her dead. She was still struggling with the idea of using the gun, a Winchester of all things, that she had once used to hunt with her father for the purposes of shooting monsters that looked like people.

She immediate grabbed for her father's old shotgun. It had been a few years since she had gone hunting with him-hunting without her father had never seemed right; she only ever went because she could go with him. Still, the gun felt familiar in her hands and she swung it upwards with ease. The butt found its place at her shoulder just as easily as it had a few years before in the woods with a stubborn hunter of a different kind.

Bobby gave her an odd look. It was somewhere between suspicious, appreciative, and surprised. He had a shotgun at the table, but to answer the now-frantic knocking at the door, he instead put his hand at the pistol in his waistband.

A voice came through the door. "Bobby! Officer Jones!"

"Louise?" Bobby asked through the only thing separating them from the outside world. It was a small town, and the name Louise could only apply to a small number of people that Emma could think of, and fewer still who weren't currently nursing home residents.

"Bobby! Let me in, please!" The woman sounded frantic, and Emma at first wanted to ask why the hunter was hesitating from just opening the door. He had warned her that he had grown paranoid in his old age, but she had never actually expected him to hesitate to save someone who was actually asking for help.

She never expected her own gun to stay at her shoulder, if her hold waivered just a bit.

"Please, Bobby. It's Dr. Roth! She's gone mad. I don't know what she is. She turned into a dog, Agent Jones, and she tried to bite me."

"She didn't actually bite you?" Bobby asked as he flipped one lock, then another, but left the latch in place so that he could open the door a crack to get a good look at the woman but not enough that she could fit through. well, unless she turned out to be a skinwalker and a chihuaua at that.

"Just scratched me to hell," the woman said. Her hand reached in to tug on Bobby's sleeve, and it definitely looked like a dog had gotten to her and clawed her up. To be honest, it looked worse than any dog scratches Emma had ever seen. She wondered if it was because the attacker had possessed a control of those paws that most dogs didn't.

Emma noted that Bobby's hand still hadn't left the gun at his waistband. That indicated to her that she should keep her gun at the ready. She watched as the hunter began to push the woman's wounded hand back through the door with platitudes to remind her that the latch needed the door to be shut before he could open it again. Louise didn't seem calmed by that, but she obeyed and allowed him to push the door nearly shut, flip the latch and reopen the door just enough for her to slip through.

All the while, Emma kept her gun up. She caught Bobby's eye as he ushered Louise inside, and she could have sworn that the hunter looked proud of her. Louise, on the other hand, was still wide-eyed with shock. Her hands shook as she met the hunter's eyes.

"You knew what she was, didn't you, Agent Jones?" the woman asked as she came inside. "I know you know. You didn't even hesitate or look at me like I'm crazy when I told you she had transformed into a dog. You must know what she is."

"She is a skinwalker," Bobby told her, as he shut the door.

"Or you are," Emma said, steadying the gun and trying very hard not to let it slip.

The vet assistant's head turned toward Emma and the end of her gun. Her eyes quickly flitted back to Bobby. It seemed she was just realizing that he had his hand at his back, and it didn't take long for her to put two and two together. "You can't suspect me of being one of those... those... things! Look at me! I'm human!"

"And that's what they look like, when they aren't a dog," Bobby said as he nodded his head in the direction of the nearest chair. Louise hesitated. She didn't seem to know whether to go back and take her chances against her employer or to take the risk with the two people currently pointing guns at her head.

"Emma, I've known you for years."

"And I was attacked by one of these things earlier today," she said. "It tried to take me hostage, and might have really hurt me if it hadn't been for Bobby and his partner." Emma might have known that Sam, Bobby, Dean and Cas were not federal agents, but she didn't think they wanted everyone in town to know otherwise.

"You've already killed one of these things?" Louise asked as Bobby moved about the room to get something out of the duffel bag on the kitchenette counter.

"We have, and now we have to make sure you aren't one of them." He gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry if this means our date tomorrow is off."

"A date? You have to be kidding me," Louise muttered as her eyes noted he was withdrawing a silver knife from the bag. "If you come near me with that, you are going to be spending the next few weeks hospitalized."

Bobby sighed. "And this is why I can never keep a girlfriend." Despite the light-hearted words, the older man's face was dead serious. Emma didn't doubt that a.) Bobby probably had trouble keeping a girlfriend and b.) he wasn't going to back down.

#

The couple was unbelievably fast, and they had already escaped the lightly populated areas of Main Street to head to an old business area in the town. Sam had to wonder just why every town they went to seemed to have an abandoned factory or warehouse. And naturally, in each of these towns, the various monsters knew the deserted building and used it as a base.

The thought made him wonder if he and Dean shouldn't reconsider how they conduct a hunt. It would certainly shorten the whole process. They could find out what they might be facing, head for the old warehouse and eliminate the creatures without the lengthy investigation.

Sam had tracked a few skinwalkers since the encounter with the Alpha, and he had to admit some surprise that the two creatures still hadn't transformed. Typically, when these things were trying to get away, they moved to their quicker dog form. That they still hadn't was troubling. It probably meant a trap.

He could hear his brother's boot hit a puddle in the pot-holed parking lot. The sound of a splash was followed by a "son of a bitch" could be heard behind Sam. Under other circumstances, he might have turned around to see just how big the puddle had been and how wet Dean now was, but now wasn't the time. He would laugh at him later if it was worth laughing at.

The couple ran into the door of the warehouse and Sam grabbed for a small flashlight he kept in his pocket. Though it was bright enough outside with a nearly full moon, that wouldn't be the case inside of the old warehouse with its few dirty windows.

"Do you think we should call Cas?" he asked Dean.

The fact that there was some hesitation before his brother answered "No" spoke volumes. "He told me he'd know if something went wrong. And he might have a mess on his own hands at the apartment."

Dean had out a flashlight as well and held it in the same hand with his gun. "What do you think the odds are that this place doesn't have a few thousand places to hide?"

"Slim to none," Sam responded and waited for Dean to charge inside. Though both were more than capable of taking the lead, Dean tended to get pissy when Sam took it from him. Part of it came because he was the older brother, part because Dean went into alpha-male-mode while on a hunt, but Sam wasn't stupid enough to discount the biggest reason, which was the overriding desire to keep Sam safe.

"Come on out you bastards," Dean yelled out once they got inside. Though Sam knew there had never been any point of being stealthy as they charged inside, he wondered-not for the first time in their hunts together-at his brother's desire to taunt the monsters. Sam knew, however, that Dean considered this a tactic. The elder Winchester had the belief that if he got the monsters pissed off enough, they would begin making mistakes. Hunts didn't really allow for empirical data based upon a clear study of the method's actual effectiveness, so Sam had no support to argue otherwise.

All Sam could do was roll his eyes and prepare for the inevitable attack.

But it didn't come. There was the sound of shuffling, of something small and metal hitting the ground, but no attack. Sam held his flashlight up, scanning the wrecks of what looked to have once been a textile factory.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," Dean called out in a sing-song voice. "Just two of us against the rest of you sons of bitches." He let out a bark of laughter. "Get it? Sons of  _bitches_!"

Sam and Dean each took either side of the rows of equipment still loaded with thread. The stuff hung like fading spiderwebs, some of the strands long since broken, others holding strong to the ceiling where an assortment of mechanical pieces prepared to weave it into clothing of decades past. Dust clung to everything, creating a haze in front of the dual beams from flashlights as the hunters' footsteps stirred up the remnants of years past.

Still, they were seeing nothing, and yet every instinct that Sam had honed over years as a hunter told him that they were surrounded. He was seriously considering a silent prayer to Cas. If nothing else, the angel could illuminate the factory so they weren't hunting blind.

It made very little sense that Dean didn't take more advantage of the angel's regular presence. Sam wasn't selfish enough to want to pull the angel down at each and every hunt-though Rachel may have turned out to be a traitor, she had made a good point about the way they expected Cas to be at their beck and call. Still, the younger Winchester had hoped that given their friend's nearly constant presence at Dean's side might mean that they could rely on the fact they had a freaking angel to help them out rather than their own breakable bodies, guns and knives. But  _no_ , Dean liked the satisfaction of the hunt too much to just send Cas in to clean up the mess.

And then there were hunts like these, when Cas was no better at differentiating the creatures from humans. If there were any captives here, Cas's powers could prove to be overkill and harm any non-skinwalkers trapped in the factory. Still, a call to their friend couldn't hurt anything more than Dean's pride, right?

By the time the thought crossed Sam's mind, he heard the clank of metal hitting the floor again, but it definitely fell from further away than it had the last time. In a slow pan worthy of a cinematographer, Sam let his flashlight move upward toward catwalks that he hadn't noticed while in the front of the factory. The things had been laying in wait for them to walk to the back. At least a dozen of them.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean hissed as his own flashlight tilted upward and his gun began to fire just a few seconds before Sam pulled the trigger on his own.

_Cas, if you're listening... We're going to need your help._

#

Bobby saw the fear in Louise's eyes. So much for that date. It still didn't change the fact that he was going to test her as a skinwalker, willingly or not. He gave her a heartfelt apology-or as close to one as a cynical hunter like himself could manage-and prepared to place the blade to her skin. Actually cutting her wouldn't be necessary, and though he'd told her as much, she obviously didn't find that reassuring.

Before he could bring the blade to her bare arm, however, there was the sound of barking and howling at the door. Bobby saw Emma shifting her shotgun between Louise and the new arrival.

Louise pulled back the curtains, only to have the sheepdog on the other side snarl and lunge itself at the glass. With a shout, the older woman shifted back in her chair enough that it clattered to the floor, taking her along with it.

"That's her! She followed me!"

Bobby reached down to offer her a hand as Johnny began to cry. Apparently the noise had finally carried through to the bathroom. Louise looked at Bobby's outstretched hand warily; she still didn't trust a man who had a gun in one hand and a knife wedged under his arm, and he couldn't really blame her for that. She moved slowly and pushed herself to her feet using Dean's nearby bed.

"You have a baby here?" Louise asked incredulously. "You know there are monsters-it's obvious you do-and you bring a baby to this town?"

"I asked the same thing," Emma said. And though both Sam and Bobby had tried to reassure her, it was obvious she still wasn't sold. The young woman turned her attention to Bobby. "Do you want me to get him?"

If it had been one of the boys, he wouldn't have even hesitated before rolling his eyes and calling whichever one had asked the question an idjit, then follow it all up with some sarcastic remark about leaving an inexperienced hunter to deal with at least one skinwalker while  _he_ took care of the baby _._  The moment's hesitation he  _did_  have because Emma  _wasn't_  one of the boys gave him enough time to bite his tongue and just nod.

He watched the blond set the Winchester-irony of all ironies-on the sinktop near the bathroom door. It meant the gun was as far from Louise and close to Emma as possible while allowing her to see to Johnny. It would even be out of his reach if she brought him out into the main hotel room. He had to give her credit for some surprising instincts; she'd have made a good hunter in another life. Bobby hoped she'd be able to just walk away after this night was over and that she wouldn't become a good hunter in  _this_  life.

He could hear her voice echoing off the tile walls of the blue and white bathroom-this hotel had really run with its color theme-and Johnny's cries melted into whimpers and finally a satisfied sort of cooing. With that seemingly under control, Bobby could place his focus back on the veterinarian's secretary.

He noticed she had worked her way into the room until she was now between the two beds, away from the front door, but had a direct line to some of the weapons. The move made perfect sense for either a terrified victim or a clever monster. He just wished he could decide which she was.

She noticed he was still holding the gun and the blade. "You can't seriously think that I'm actually one of those  _things_."

"In my line of work, a person could never be sure."

Bobby moved back in the direction of the door and tried to position himself between Louise and what pieces of the hunters' arsenal remained in a duffel in the kitchen area. The thing outside was clawing at the door, and it was  _strong_. Bobby had to wonder how long the cheap wood and creaking locks would hold against the assault.

"Bobby please. Stop that thing!"

The older hunter, not for the first time in the last few years, cursed that he was no longer closer to Dean and Sam's age or blessed with Castiel's ability to take the form of someone younger. Maybe then Bobby would have been in contention for the level-headed woman now caring for Dean's son, rather than the shrill woman panicking and edging along the walls and furniture to get further away from the door.

#

Another dog. Another decoy. But this time, Castiel was able to track the animal back to its handler, or whatever the name for it would be. It seemed odd, given that skinwalkers were part dog themselves, to consider this woman an owner or master, but it was clear that she had been the one to train the animal and the one it responded to. The semantics of it didn't really matter, he supposed as he appeared behind the woman and pressed his sword to her back.

"Were you planning on distracting me all night with real dogs?" he asked.

"It was an idea," she replied before yelling at the dog to attack. Castiel was quick with his blade and had to kill the poor animal who was only following a monster's orders. He turned his attention back to the woman, who was now facing him and looking like she was trying to decide whether to run away or attack. The angel didn't give her time to make the choice. He latched hold of her t-shirt and pulled her close enough that his blade was almost certainly poking uncomfortably at her stomach. "That thing isn't even silver. Do you really think it will do anything but piss me off?"

Castiel was certain he had been spending too much time around Dean. It was the only possible explanation for the smirk that spread across his face as he began to press it into the creature's body. "It can kill an angel. I think it can handle a petty little monster."

He allowed the angel blade to sink into her flesh. It was oddly nice to be using his blade once again against monsters, rather than against his own kind. Still, he eased her gently to the ground. She may have been the enemy, but she was gone now to some place where he was glad he couldn't follow. After having filled himself with all those souls last year, he knew a bit about where she was going; he understood some of the horror of Purgatory. He could still pity her for that.

The angel pressed his palm to the creature's head and forced her body to resume its dog form. Though he was going to be sending it to the bottom of a pit somewhere along the Maine coast-he'd found a surprisingly effective old well for this sort of thing there-he didn't want to risk that anyone who might stumble across the dumping ground later would find any bones that resumbled a human's.

He could sense nothing else now, no dogs, no skinwalkers, nothing. Castiel felt fairly confident now that he'd gotten the only skinwalker near the apartment, so he attempted to seek out his charges, new and old. Johnny seemed at ease, and Dean's adreneline was pumping. So far, it didn't seem worse than the usual hunt. And though Castiel was certain there was impending trouble, it was a state of being that Dean lived for, even if he'd deny it if asked directly.

Cas wasn't stupid enough to interfere on his own.

Through the noise and whispers that constituted the prayers of the multitudes that were a constant presence in the angel's mind, he thought he heard a familiar one. It drifted out quickly, but after a few moments of standing in the quiet forest, hand still clutching a bloody blade, he knew he heard Sam's voice again, asking for him to come.

Dean might not be happy with his intervention, but Castiel knew Sam wouldn't call him for nothing. The Winchesters were obviously in danger, and the angel would see to it that they stayed safe, God help anything that got in his way.

#

There had to be limits to the number of times a man could be strung up like this. Dean's arms were tied above his head, high enough that his toes could only barely touch the ground and certainly not enough that his feet could support his weight. It wouldn't be long before the strain become too much and one, maybe both, of his arms popped out of socket. Sam was in a similar situation, but the skinwalkers hadn't managed to haul him up high enough that he was as uncomfortable as Dean.

Damned moose.

The skinwalkers were all in human form. None had transformed, and Dean thought that at this point, it was a little silly for them to still be protecting their alternate identity. There was probably an ulterior motive, and Dean probably wouldn't like it. That was just how life worked.

Being in human form hadn't prevented them from getting violent. It had been all fists and knees and elbows. Dean thought it odd that none of them were using a weapon, and aside from a split lip and abraisons from the cement floor, no blood had been spilled either. That seemed odd for monsters known for their bloodlust.

He hoped they didn't pull the old "misunderstood creature" act. Not after two people had died in this town. It wasn't that Dean would buy it if they tried, or even that he would feel guilty after ganking their doggy asses. But Sam would feel remorse, and Dean would, as usual, be left to clean up the mess that a hunt had left on his brother's psyche.

"You do realize that you're going to have to do a lot more than this to keep us from kicking your sorry asses when we get free."

"You seem to assume that's a possibility," the "bride" they'd followed said. "That's downright adorable."

The "groom" laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We've all either gone several years without or have no experience attacking a human. Once you fall off the wagon, it's incredibly hard to get back on. The only reason Elsa was allowed back around people is because she and our alpha have a ... 'close' relationship." The guy had just used finger quotes and everything. He seemed like, skinwalker or not, he was a major league douchebag. Asshole probaby had a pink polo shirt with a permanently popped collar somewhere in his closet. Hopefully, Dean would get to kick his sorry ass first. "And you killed Elsa.'

The whole bunch of them looked deadly serious and incredibly pissed. It was only as one in the crowd, an old lady, began to laugh that Dean noticed the pack was now parting, making way for something to come through. Two of the monsters in human form were leading a snarling, snapping husky. "The alpha has big plans for you."

"I think you'll remember Harry, or as he's been called by the assholes who thought they owned him, Bright Eyes," the "groom" said. "He's tasted blood, nearly blew our cover completely. He'll do us one last service before he's put down for good."

Dean noticed movement at the back of the crowd, a familar, awkward, yet fluid movement. He glanced over at Sam to see if he had noticed as well. From the look his younger brother flashed him, he had.

"Big plans?" he asked. If the alpha wasn't there, they needed to know where she was instead. "What, you're going to turn us? Let your friend eat us?"

"Oh, you'll die. And so will Bobby Singer, Emma Wennerstrand, and little Johnny Winchester," the man said. Dean tried not to feel ice in his veins at the idea, and the bastard picked up on it. "That's right, Dean. We know about Johnny, too."

"Our Alpha's seeing to him, personally," the younger woman said. "She considered turning him and letting you see it, but she doesn't like defects in our pack, it only makes us weaker. She wants us stronger. But she  _did_  want you to know she was going to kill your little boy, just like you got our Alpha killed, like you killed the Mother, like you have killed countless of our kind. She wanted you to hurt, and I agree."

Dean's eyes met those of the figure at the back of the pack. "You know, your alpha's really going to regret that she wanted you to tell us that. Right before our friend kills the bitch. 'Cause trust me, you won't like him when he's angry. And he's royally pissed right now."

Dean closed his eyes and prayed his brother did, too, as the things released ole Bright eyes and a trenchcoat wearing angel suddenly filled the room with a crazy-bright light. Dean managed to catch only the slightest shadow of wings before his eyes shut completely.


	14. ... when he's angry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel protects the people who have become family for him.

_Beware the wrath of a patient adversary._

_John C. Calhoun, 7th Vice President of the United States_

Dean waited until the light faded before he opened his eyes again. What had once been a crowd of monsters was now nothing but ash. He glanced over at Sam and saw that he was at least in one piece. The skinwalkers were dead. Cas had gone all badass angel on them, and Dean was suddenly wondering why they even bothered to do a full hunt at all when the angel could eliminate them all in a big flash of light. The hunter had to marvel at his friend's new true form that it was capable of burning a person's eyes and then the whole body from the inside out.

"Nice job, Cas," Dean shouted out to the vacant factory. "Now, just let us down and we'll kick the top bitch's ass." Dean's eyes scoured the empty building for any sign of a trench coat, but he couldn't find anything but the odd piles of ash scattered around. "Cas?!" he yelled out.

Bastard had better not have left him there. His son was in danger and Cas was leaving him strung up like a pig in a butcher shop? No, that wasn't going to fly at all.

"Cas! You son of a bitch! You let me down! Now!"

#

Louise continued to move toward the back of the room. No matter how often or emphatically Bobby instructed her to stay where she was, she kept inching back with each sound of the skinwalker's impact on the door or window. She was damned near hysterical, and nothing the hunter said seemed to calm her.

"I heard what Bright Eyes did to George Masters. That thing will be ripping through that door any time now."

At those words, the creature made a leap at the window that was high enough to give Bobby an eyeful of something that definitely shouldn't have been there if this was the good Dr. Roth. He wheeled on the woman who was now practically at the bathroom door.

"Funny thing about that skinwalker outside: it seems to be a dude."

Louise heaved a sigh and gave Bobby a smug little smirk. "There are some things Dr. Roth doesn't like to talk about," she said with a tone wry enough that even Bobby would be impressed, in a different situation. Like the woman _not_ being the evil gang leader of a bunch of mutt monsters.

She then lunged for Emma's rifle, and Bobby could only manage a single shot before she positioned herself in front of the cheap laminate door leading to the bathroom. Bobby couldn't risk shooting at her now, not with Johnny and Emma on the other side of the door.

"What can I say? My boy doesn't listen to his mother nearly as well as he should. I told him to keep things on the down-low, so to speak."

She had Emma's gun in her hands. "You killed my lover, Bobby Singer. You, Sam and the bitch in there." She said the last bit loud enough that Emma could certainly hear it. "You could have had so much power Emma. We'd have made you one of us. Strong like us. No more pathetic weakness. No more looking over your shoulder, no more fear."

Bobby distinctly heard the words "Screw you" come from the bathroom.

"Atta girl," he said as he kept his gun trained on Louise. She, in turn, had the rifle trained on him.

"You made a serious mistake, letting Dean bring his little brat on a hunt. You can't shoot me here, but I can shoot you!" She pulled the trigger and Bobby wasn't nearly quick enough to avoid all of the buckshot before it hit his outer thigh and knee. He cried out and collapsed onto the other knee. It was only by sheer strength of will that he kept his gun pointed at the vet assistant.

"I've got Johnny and me in the tub," Emma yelled from within the bathroom. "Shoot the bitch!" Bobby really liked this girl. And considering what he now knew about Louise, he was very jealous of the boys for being in her general age bracket, or at least looking like they were.

Bobby was once again lining up his shot as Louise slammed into the bathroom door and instantly knocked it open. Emma let out a scream, probably the first purely terrified one that he'd heard from her since they met. Still, the only noise he heard was that single shout. She didn't go into the hysterics that Louise had tried to mimic just a few minutes before. He fired another round, trying to hit the skinwalker before she made it fully inside the bathroom. He nicked her leg, causing her to stagger backwards just as the sheer curtains let in an incredibly bright white light.

"What was that?"

"That was the cavalry arriving." Bobby fired the gun as Louise tried to run into the bathroom. It was too late. For her, at least.

#

Only once before had Emma been sure she was going to die. It had been years before, preceded by a door-her bedroom door at that time-slamming open and a dark figure standing in the doorway. She thought today she might die, too, but this time, the door swung open to a crazed monster woman. But then even the creature grew scared. Eyes went wide with fear, her expression was even wilder than before. Emma noted some differences from last time, the biggest that the menacing figure that appeared on the other side of the door now was her savior.

Cas-no, he was definitely Castiel at this moment-practically radiated power and fury. He looked the very embodiment of vengeful wrath. She should have been scared of him. Should have curled more tightly around Johnny's small body to protect them both from whatever the boy's other father had become.

But she couldn't.

All she could do was stare and quietly cheer him on. She watched the previously quiet and awkward man grab hold of Louise's face the way an NBA player might grab a basketball with one hand. He slammed her against the nearest wall and barked out to Emma. "Close your eyes and cover Johnny's."

The moment she did, Emma could see bright light filtering through her eyelids. Only once she was sure it had faded did she open them again.

Castiel was standing over her, still radiating power, but offering her a simple, all-too-human-looking hand. "Are you injured?" he asked as he helped her to her feet and gathered Johnny almost tenderly into his arms.

"I don't know about her, but I've had better days," Bobby's voice cried from the room outside.

Emma watched the rage slowly dissipate the longer Cas held the baby. He watched her closely, all the while rubbing a calming hand to Johnny's back. "What are you?" she finally managed to ask. It was strange to think he wasn't human, with the way he was now cradling the child to his chest and how the baby let out a sigh of contentment.

"I'm an angel of the Lord," he replied simply. His startlingly blue eyes met hers and seemed to look right through her. "And I am so very sorry."

Something caught in Emma's throat at those words. She didn't doubt as she looked at him, at this odd man who wasn't a man. She could tell that he knew. He knew and he was apologizing. For what? That it happened? That he or one of his brethren hadn't stopped it?

Before the angel or the hunters could leave town, she knew she would have a very long talk with Castiel, whether he liked it or not, but for now, she felt like all the energy was draining from her body as the adrenaline faded.

"You know, I could use a little help before I lose all of my blood," Bobby called again. Emma couldn't imagine being so snarky to an angel, not after having seen the amount of power that he possessed. Castiel didn't seem to think anything of it.

On shaky legs, Emma followed Cas out of the bathroom and into the main part of the hotel room. He had yet to relinquish his hold on Johnny, and the baby certainly didn't seem to mind.

The angel placed two fingers to Bobby's forehead, and almost the instant he made contact, the hunter's body repaired itself, his clothes mended, and the blood disappeared from his jeans and the floor.

Bobby took note of this and glanced around at Cas's handiwork. "Bit more than the angel of Thursday these days?"

"I did say that my grace was stronger than it had once been," Cas explained. "I haven't had the opportunity to discover by how much. It seemed unwise to test it."

"Yeah. I could see that, given your family." He and the angel shared a knowing look, and Emma couldn't help but feel left out of the loop. But considering what the loop probably entailed, she was fine with that.

Bobby stood and made his way over to her. "How are you doing?"

"That's a really silly question," she chided.

"Yeah. I'd be in shock, too. Was with my first experience with the supernatural." He got very quiet for a moment and a flash of something sad crossed his face before it disappeared again. "But you handled yourself very well. And you took damned good care of Johnny."

"It's the least I could do," she said.

#

Sam was behind the wheel of the Impala, surprisingly, at Dean's insistence. His brother had been determined that he would be running back to the hotel after they had gotten loose from the ropes that had strung them up. Or, rather, Dean had gotten free then cut Sam down. How his older brother had managed it, Sam didn't know. It was fairly obvious Dean had dislocated his shoulder in prying himself loose, not to mention that Sam's longer arms and taller frame had been fully extended.

Adrenaline apparently not only allowed Dean to push through pain and get spurts of strength; it made him proficient with a knife that could only barely reach its target.

Sam had to wonder which of them would reach the hotel first. Though Dean had the more direct route, the younger hunter had a car. The older brother was also injured, and while it was only his shoulder-which he swore there wasn't time to fix before he ran off-the run would jostle the dislocation and cause more pain as he moved.

When he pulled the Impala into the hotel parking lot alongside Bobby's van, it was fairly obvious to Sam that the door had just been kicked in. He climbed out of the car and surveyed the damage. There was a pile of dust outside similar to the multiple heaps inside the factory. Sam could see his older brother was already standing just inside the doorway, gesturing at Cas with his good hand while he held the left arm close to his body.

Sam mentally added a new item to the list of super powers Dean received thanks to adrenaline: apparently, it turned him into the Flash. Sam certainly couldn't come up with a better explanation for how his brother had managed to arrive at the hotel so much sooner than Sam had with a car and no injuries.

The moment the Impala's door creaked open, Sam heard his brother's angry growl. He was succeeding in keeping his voice to a reasonable level, but only for the very same reason he was so angry. They had already discovered that Johnny didn't like the sound of raised voices, and that seemed to be the only thing keeping Dean from losing it all together.

"You left us there!" Dean said with a quick snap of his right arm in Cas' direction. He adjusted his positioning for his left, and Sam wished once again that his brother had allowed him to pop the shoulder back into place. Then again, if the stubborn bastard was going to insist he suffer like an idiot, who was his brother to argue?

"It seemed more pressing at the time that I get to Johnny as quickly as possible." There was something in Cas' tone that told the younger Winchester that there would be no forthcoming apologies from the angel.

"And you didn't think that maybe, just maybe," Dean said as Sam came into the room and stood at his side, "Johnny's father might have liked to have been here to keep him safe? All you had to do was pop the two, well, three of us here."

Cas was holding Johnny and gently patting the baby's back, which made the familiar tilt of the head seem all the more out of place, given the damage that had been done to what was once had been a hotel room. "You have repeatedly expressed distaste for my method of travel. I was capable of handling the situation."

"First," Dean said as Sam slowly moved beyond his volatile brother to the woman at the back of the room who was wearing an expression one might expect on someone who was encountering a unicorn giving birth. "First, I can cope with a little constipation for the kid's sake. Second, I don't care if you're capable of fixing this on your own. I'm not going to just sit by and let you handle everything for however long you're here on earth."

Sam stood at Emma's side and placed what he hopped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "How are you?"

"Surprisingly enough, not so bad. Little shaken." Big, brown eyes looked up at Sam. "He's an angel." Sam tried not to laugh at the mixture of awe and confusion in her voice. He merely nodded in response as Dean and Cas continued their bickering.

"You are injured," Cas said before handing Johnny to Sam. The new uncle still wasn't the most comfortable holding the baby, but his nephew seemed happy enough to be with him.

The angel took a few steps toward Dean, who quickly backed away from the outstretched hand and extended fingers. "Woah. Stop it. It's hard to stay righteously angry at you when you heal me up."

"Dean," Cas said with an exasperated sigh. "Your left shoulder is dislocated, and you are in pain. Stop arguing." Before Dean could move away a second time, the angel's fingers made contact with his forehead, and almost instantly, the persistent look of pain faded from Dean's features.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered as he pushed by the angel to approach Sam, Emma and Johnny. "You OK?" he asked the blonde, who simply nodded in response. He held his hands out toward Sam, who realized that was his way of asking for his son to be passed over to him. The younger brother quickly complied and didn't even bother to fight the smile that spread across his face as he watched Dean quickly check Johnny for injuries before pulling the baby into a tight bear hug. Sam almost felt sorry for the poor kid. He had been neglected for so long and now was going to face Dean's infamously smothering way of demonstrating love. It would be like living in the desert and then suddenly faced with the rainforest.

"Emma had him the whole time," Bobby said. "Kept him safe while I tried to deal with Louise. Turns out she was the pack alpha."

The new father looked incredibly relieved and turned his attention to the woman at Sam's left. "Thank you," he told her with an overwhelming amount of gratitude in his voice. Johnny seemed oblivious to the reason why, but he reveled in the attention he was receiving and rubbed his cheek against the worn olive green shirt. Dean's own cheek pressed itself to the top of Johnny's head. It reminded Sam of the way his brother wold hug him when he was younger and Dean was just grateful he'd survived one disaster or another.

"I'm fine, by the way," Bobby muttered from the corner of the room.

"I saw that," Dean said. "It's why I didn't ask."

Sam couldn't help but grin as Emma leaned over and spoke softly. "Did your brother just call an angel a 'son of a bitch?'"


	15. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunters, the angel, the woman and the baby enjoy the calm following the skinwalkers' attack.

_"A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love, a resting place for innocence on earth, a link between angels and men."_

_Martin Farquhar Tupper, English Writer_

"You promise you're going to be honest with me this time? About everything?"

"Everything I can," Sam said as they sat side-by-side with their backs against the turquoise padded headboard. "Some things aren't mine to tell."

"I'll start small then. What is the truth about Johnny? I've known you for less than a day and the story has already changed twice." She pulled her leg up to her chest and looked up at him with those big brown eyes. "I know there must be more to the story if it's constantly so different with each retelling."

Sam had to admit that there was a lot of logic to her reasoning on that. He needed to be as truthful with her as possible, even when it came to telling her when a topic was off limits. This one, though, he needed to explain in a way to ease her worry about the baby's safety.

"Johnny is more or less Cas's doing. He saw him while investigating this hunt and said that he knew the boy was meant to be Dean's son, even if he wasn't biologically. Johnny's mother neglected him," Sam said as he shifted a few inches closer to her. "Cas won't say-because Dean might do something rash, almost certainly will, actually-exactly how bad the situation was, but it was bad. Cas managed to fix the damage to his body, but you've been around enough to see how much he likes contact. I don't know if he was ever touched just for the sake of touching."

There was a flash of anger in her eyes, then sadness. Emma took a deep breath as though to steel her resolve to continue this line of questioning. "So you're relying on Castiel's judgment?" she asked. Sam couldn't help but notice that she had been fairly consistently referring to the angel by his full name since he had rescued her earlier that evening.

Still, the idea of relying on Castiel's judgment seemed more than a little ironic given the year before. "We are, and Dean always will. Even if it wasn't already obvious to the rest of us that this is the best possible thing for Johnny, Dean would still have had complete faith in Cas."

It had been that utter loyalty that only his brother could show another person, or angel, that had kept them all so blind to Cas's allegiance to Crowley. And it had been Dean's faith in his friend that had stopped the angel from becoming no better than the things they hunted.

#

Dean was in the process of getting Johnny ready for bed. Although he knew that his son should eventually learn how to sleep in a crib, after everything that had happened that day, he needed as much reassurance of Johnny's health and safety as Johnny liked the reassurance that he wasn't going to be abandoned.

He had to change the boy's diaper, since Cas was off checking on the vet. The angel hadn't been gone long, but Dean didn't see the point in stalling Johnny's sleep just for the sake of a diaper change. It wasn't as though Cas hadn't been fairly reliable in the duty up to this point.

Bobby said that Louise had used the woman as her cover story, and neither Dean or Sam had remembered seeing her at the factory. Bobby had informed them of the monster's mention of the vet a little sheepishly while they were all taking a celebratory drink of whiskey. It was obvious that the hectic night and worrying about not only the three hunters, but Emma and Johnny had left Bobby a little distracted. There was little harm done, since Cas was still souped up enough to fix the problem and make her forget, and it hadn't been  _that_  long after the skinwalkers were dead that Bobby had remembered.

Dean turned his attention back to his son, whose diaper was now in the garbage and he was changing into pajamas with firefighting dalmatians. Johnny was obviously getting sleepy, his eyes drooping, mouth open in a wide yawn. Considering the day he'd just had, Dean couldn't blame the kid.

"You seem to be adjusting to this fairly well, all things considered," Bobby said.

"I should have been an actor, then," Dean said as he pulled back the covers of the bed and placed Johnny to the middle with his head near the pillows. Those big green eyes followed every single one of Dean's moves as he pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed next to his son, clad in a pair of pajama pants and a black T-shirt. He was feeling much cleaner now that he was showered and didn't reek of those monsters or the factory.

"I'm not sure how I'm going to do this," Dean said truthfully as he pulled the covers over himself and his son. It might have been May and fairly warm outside, but the air conditioner in the hotel had only two settings, off and arctic. He looked over at Bobby, who was wearing a well worn white T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. He was settling in on the spare bed because, as the older hunter had said, he wasn't sure just what Sam's "talking" with Emma would entail.

"You do realize you've got a slight advantage over the average hunter parent, right?"

Dean watched as Johnny's hand reached up for the amulet. His movements were becoming more uncoordinated as he fought off sleep. Dean leaned a little closer so that the tiny fingers were able to grasp the brass figure.

"I know. I have you and Sam." Dean said before pulling back a bit so that the leather cord served as a tether just short enough to keep Johnny from placing the thing in his mouth. The hunter didn't really want to test what would happen if his son put a God-finding, mystical amulet in his mouth. "And Cas."

"Kinda helpful that he's an angel. Running on full batteries and then some, if what he did to fix this room and keep things around here quiet are anything to go by."

#

"I'm still having some trouble with the whole 'angel' thing. He's not what I expected them to be." Emma felt Sam's arm move behind her head and she happily shifted closer to his side. She may have begun her flirting with Castiel, but she definitely liked Sam. "I honestly didn't believe angels were real."

"They are," Sam said. His long fingers tickled over her arm; she'd discarded her father's old military coat and was now wearing just her jeans and T-shirt. "And they really aren't like anyone thinks. Dean calls them 'dicks with wings.' I hate to say it, but I agree."

"But Castiel..."

"He's one of the good ones. There are a few, though even the ones I've come to like can be assholes on occasion."

"You've met more than one," she said, her mind still struggling to make sense of all of this. Angels, monsters, who knows what else... they were real. "How, or why did you and Dean end up with your own personal guardian angel?"

"Dean has this... saving people thing, and it's even worse if it's me. He will sacrifice anything,  _and I mean anything_ , to save me." Emma could see how much this bothered him, as his lips turned down to a frown and his eyes focused at some far-off point beyond the hotel wall. "It's not that I wouldn't, too. Dean just... you'd have to really know him to know how crazy protective he can be."

"I got an inkling of that," she said, letting her head rest on his shoulder, but in a way that she could still look up at Sam's face.

"I guess you did," he said with a smile as his large hand made gentle circles on her arm. "Cas is the one willing to save Dean, willing to do the idiotic, insane stuff for him. That's how they first met. Cas saved Dean from something incredibly stupid he did for my sake."

"Why did he do it?" Emma asked before she could stop herself. As soon as the words left her mouth, she looked down at her lap, ashamed of the question.

"Dean? Because he takes being a protective older brother  _way_  too seriously." When that got no answer and Sam apparently noticed Emma's silence, he sighed. "Why did Cas save Dean and not other people?" She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded but didn't look up. It had been a horrible thing to ask. She was sitting here with Sam asking him what made his brother so important that heaven would send an angel to personally save him.

"That's part of the big secrets that aren't quite mine to tell," Sam said. "I know you lost your father and I know a lot of crap happens in most people's lives. Dean was part of a plan, I guess, a very big, very stupid plan. We both were, actually, but we didn't like the plan, so we purposely screwed up for the various people upstairs. Cas was just following orders back then, but that changed to just following Dean. I don't think he realized just how much everything would change for doing it."

"I'm sorry for asking that," Emma said quietly.

"You're not the first and you won't be the last." She looked up at him at that moment. He was very close. It wouldn't take much to just...

Her lips were nearly to his when suddenly she realized the misconception she had been operating under the last few days. "They're not really a couple!" She could only imagine how wide her eyes grew at that and how stupid she probably seemed for not realizing it sooner.

When Sam let out a peal of exuberant laughter, she hoped that it wasn't because he thought she was as much of an idiot as she felt. "No. They're not."

"Oh God, they must hate me."

"If Dean didn't make a scene, I know he doesn't hate you, and I don't know that Cas is capable of hating anyone just for making a simple mistake. Dean's called him much worse and you see how close they are." Almost as though he was trying to console her bruised pride, Sam pressed his lips to Emma's. He pulled back and actually looked very "aw, golly gee" awkward.

Emma would have sworn it was put on, but it seemed genuine and adorable enough-though how that was possible on a man as big as Sam, she didn't know-to make her want to kiss him again.

#

Castiel arrived back in the hotel room to see that the hunters and Johnny were already in the bed for the evening, though none of them were asleep. The baby seemed dangerously close to sleep but fighting it. Using instincts that the angel was sure weren't there before, he placed a hand atop the strawberry blond mop of hair. Almost instantly, green eyes closed in sleep and a small smile spread across tiny pink lips.

"Looks like he was holding out until you got here," Dean said as he propped himself up on his elbows to look up at Castiel. The angel waited for some sign of reproach or disappointment in the hunter's voice. After all, wasn't it wrong that the boy would wait for someone other than his father before going to sleep? It seemed wrong, and no answer was forthcoming. He was getting no help, hadn't been, from Jimmy, whose prolonged silence was beginning to trouble him.

Dean, however, gave him all the answer he needed as he looked at the angel with something that resembled amusement. "How's the vet doing?" Bobby asked from the other bed.

"She's doing well. I found her at her home, tied up to a diningroom chair, and understandably hysterical. Apparently, the creature that was outside the hotel door had once been the supervisor at the animal shelter and before he came here, he attacked her."

"Knew that guy had a thing for her," Bobby said.

"That seems to be the case," the angel said. "She said that he mentioned something about intending to make her his mate. He attempted to turn her, but I eliminated the venom from her veins. She should be fine." The angel stayed near Johnny, wedged between the wall shared with the bathroom and the empty side of the bed. He couldn't begin to explain his strong need to remain where he was, hovering at the baby's side. The sensation was so strong he wondered if it wasn't something akin to the pull that heaven had held on him for much of his existence.

"Given Dr. Roth's profession and this town's need for a good veterinarian, I thought it best if I erase her memories of the incident. If you would like me to do the same to Emma, I will leave that decision to you."

Dean shook his head. "We'll ask her in the morning. She kept Johnny safe; she's earned the right to make that call." Castiel wasn't certain what decision Dean would have made if it had been up to him. Ever since he had begged Castiel to make Lisa and Ben forget him, Dean had been oddly mixed on the subject, seeming to both appreciate the fact that the angel could make people forget such trying times and also resenting the ability simultaneously.

Castiel nodded in response. "She used herself as a shield and had them both in the bathtub if bullets were necessary. She is an impressive woman."

"And Sammy's going to reap all the benefits." Dean sounded like a petulant child, but he seemed resigned to his place as he burrowed under the blankets and curled his arm around his son.

"I suppose I should check in with my brothers," the angel said, not that he was getting very far, despite his words. "You will have Bobby to assist you tonight if you need him."

After a moment of nothing happening, Dean looked up at Castiel from the bed, visibly concerned. "You losing your mojo again?"

"No," he replied with a frown. "It is still intact. It is merely... my desire to go home is not what it should be. I cannot seem to make myself leave."

Dean huffed in quiet laughter; Bobby's was slightly louder. "You need to be sure that he's OK," Bobby said from his bed. Even as the words were being uttered, Castiel found himself again leaning down to touch the sleeping baby's head.

"I  _know_  he's unharmed."

"Sure you do," Dean said before poking Castiel in the forehead. "Up here." Then, he poked again at the angle's chest. "Not here."

"I doubt very much that the ventricles of Jimmy's heart care very much about Johnny's safety."

There were exasperated sighs from both hunters. "He means that the emotional part of you, stunted as it might be, is still shaken by the attack and worried for Johnny's safety," Bobby said. He added an "idgit" for good measure.

"Get the lights, lose the trench and shoes at least, and settle in on the empty spot on the bed. It'll make you feel better. Promise."

Dean was giving him this  _look_ , like the one he'd given when trying to convince Castiel he needed to "get laid" or that lying was really the best way to get information on a hunt. It was his "I'm-a-human-and-I-know-what-I'm-talking-about" face. Castiel just resigned himself to giving in.

Doing as Dean instructed, he toed off his shoes and placed his coat on the dinette chair. He turned off the lights before settling against the headboard in the spot beside Johnny and Dean. It made no sense why, but the fact was that the man had been right. Almost instantly, the tense coil of something had released, and he hadn't even realized it had been there.

Thinking back, he was sure it had appeared in that factory, though he wasn't sure if it began before or after the skinwalkers started talking. It didn't matter now. Johnny was safe and sound asleep. Dean seemed close to it, with the help of only the assistance of the single celebratory shot of whiskey that they had all shared before remembering Louise had mentioned the veterinarian and that the woman might be in danger.

As Castiel was considering leaving now that the odd feeling in his stomach was fading, he felt a small hand grabbing at his suit coat.

And he smiled.

#

There was no fighting the smirk as he approached the table and the man sitting at it drinking scotch on the rocks. "So..." he said as he looked at his surroundings and back at the other man. "This is where you've been."

"Shut up," the man said, his tone brokering no argument. "Not a word."

The visitor looked around at the other patrons and bit his lip trying not to laugh out loud. "Not a word." He even made a show of zipping his mouth shut, followed by raising three fingers in a vague representation of the Scout's sign. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"That you know of," said the visitor with a smirk. He glanced around the bar-slash-lobby and was struggling not to laugh. Silence wasn't going to be an option. "But... I mean, seriously? Here? Who or what, exactly, do  _you_  have to piss off to land yourself in this place?"

He earned himself a single finger salute, but it didn't faze him as might have once. He wasn't on equal terms with this man, he couldn't be, but he'd grown, he'd spent time away and become his own person, so to speak. And, when it came to cosmic jokes, he was always up for a laugh, and this one was a doozy. He merely took a seat across from the first man and signaled to the waiter to get another for his friend and a mudslide for himself. The man looked at him strangely. "What?"

"I don't think I'm the one who should be made fun of at this table." A German man passed by them, deep in discussion about "the required suspension of disbelief" with a butch-looking woman wearing a flannel shirt and a pair of worn jeans.

"I  _really_  think you are," he said as the mudslide was set in front of him. "Look, not that I'm not just thrilled to hear from you or anything, but why am I here?"

"I just want an update."

"Well, the council seems to be working out. It's amazing how quickly angels will go back to blind obedience. They don't even question that they have no idea who all of their new bosses are."

"Castiel did," the man said with a smirk.

"Of course he did. He's hanging around the Winchesters too damned much. Still, he saw Joshua and that was enough for him." He darted his tongue out to get a bit of the sweet whipped cream atop his drink. "Crowley's still pissed at him, by the way, but isn't stupid enough to attack him, yet. Give him enough time as King of Hell, and the power will go to his head so that he'll risk it. And monsters all over are trying to replace the Alphas, and that's leading to a lot of in-fighting..."

"So nothing much has changed since we last talked." The man took a drink of his scotch and let out a quiet hiss as it hit his throat. "Except there's a new Winchester."

"Yeah, or as I like to call it, the Joys of Hunter Parenthood. It's been fun to watch, though slightly less entertaining than I'd hoped. I expected them both to flail around a bit more than they have. They've been disappointingly competent." He shrugged and took another drink.

"Keep an eye on them for me. They're going to need it." The man sighed and finished off his glass. "They've already got monsters and demons mad at them. They'll have a lot more on their plate when the angels realize they're falling and it's all my boy's fault."

#

Bobby woke up early, fairly surprised that Johnny hadn't already rallied or at least hadn't woken at some point during the night. The hunter swung his legs out of the bed and scratched his beard as he felt the sleep leave his head. He thought it was probably a good idea to take advantage of the shower before the hot water hog woke up.

He did his very best not to sound startled when he realized a pair of blue eyes was watching his every move.

"You've been there the whole night?" It didn't look like Cas had shifted even an inch from how he had settled down the night before atop the covers at Johnny's side.

"I did not feel as though I should move," the angel said, tilting his head down. Bobby's eyes followed the movement, and he saw Johnny was turned on his side so that he faced the angel, his right hand holding firmly to Cas's suit coat. Dean had his own arm curled around the child so that no pressure was placed on the small body, but in a way that practically engulfed the baby's frame.

It made for an interesting picture, but far more intriguing was Dean's right leg draped over Cas's. The boy had always been a sleep cuddler. He'd witnessed it all too often when Dean and Sam had been boys forced to share a bed. To see the trait surface again in adulthood and with the angel, of all people, was funny as hell.

Now it was just left for Bobby to decide how he was going to use this to embarrass Dean.


	16. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Cas has some questions to ask and visitors have already arrived at Bobby's house.

_"I feel no need for any other faith than my faith in the kindness of human beings. I am so absorbed in the wonder of earth and the life upon it that I cannot think of heaven and angels."_

_Pearl S. Buck_

It seemed like forever since Sam had last woken to the smell of flowery shampoo and the feeling soft blond curls tickling beneath his nose. On the list of ways to wake up, it definitely wasn't the worst. Far from it.

He smiled as he felt Emma moving beside him, her soft lips tickling over his collarbone. Yeah, this was an amazing way to greet the morning. They had showered last night, or at least it had started out that way. They did a lot of heavy petting and a little more, but thankfully, they had ended up clean and sated-for the second time in one night-by the time they were done.

It had been a good way to go to sleep, too.

"Good morning," she said as she moved up from her position beneath his chin so that she could look him in the eyes. He lifted a hand to card through her bed-mussed hair.

"Morning," he replied, kissing her lightly on the lips. "I don't know the last time I slept that well." That was the honest truth. The odd dreams he'd been having lately had vanished entirely last night, though it may have had something to do with the fact that he'd been a sort of happy exhausted before he'd gone to bed instead of just exhausted, not that he didn't want to give Emma's presence its due for helping him sleep. He glanced at the clock, which read that it was almost noon. Dean was almost certainly going to harass him about this, probably for the next week.

He couldn't find it in himself to care. It had been a very good night, the kind he hadn't had in a very, very long time. He appreciated that he'd even been allowed to sleep in, especially given that he'd kept Dean from having even the remotest shot with Emma. If their prank wars or twenty-nine years of experience were anything to go by, Dean could be a little petty and vindictive when he was outsmarted and kept from something or someone he wanted. "We should probably go over and see how the clean-up effort is going."

"What will you say about all of the people who went missing?"

"Sting operation, most likely. Some arrested, some got away." There must have been something in his tone because she  _looked_  at him in this particular way. He'd seen it before, in varying degrees, some were shocked, some were disgusted, some were sad for him, some were amused, but all shades of the look said the same thing: you've told this lie before. Emma's didn't seem to have any of the underlying pity or repulsion, and that was a good thing in Sam's book. "I might have given this excuse a few dozen times before."

"This really is all old hat for you," she said before giving him a kiss and then sliding languidly from the bed. Sam did the same, but without her catlike grace. He grabbed a shirt and new pair of jeans from his duffle. "Bobby said you've done this your whole life."

"I left for a while," Sam said, watching as cotton underwear slid up shapely legs and a white satin bra covered the breasts he'd practically worshipped the night before. "Went to Stanford. Pre-law."

"And you came back to hunting?"

"Had to," Sam said. "You asked me last night why we got Cas's help. Well, his team-heaven-decided it needed to help us, Dean especially, because the other side was determined to mess with our lives as much as possible." Emma was holding one of her shirts in one hand while the other pointed down. "Yeah. Them. They're real, too. They killed my girlfriend while I was finishing up at Stanford. I went back to hunting to find her killer."

"Did you?" she asked, her voice hard as steel. It surprised Sam; he'd seen her fight the day before, but the resolve and unforgiving tone was something new. The woman had seemed so gentle in every other interaction that this felt out of place. "Did you make the thing suffer?"

"Dean offed the guy who had been pulling those strings, yeah. I got the benefit of getting rid of the thing that had actually done it and outsmarting their boss and locking him away never to be seen again, with any luck."

Emma seemed to consider asking just who the big boss was, but Sam got the feeling that she already had a clue about that answer and wasn't really ready to hear that she'd just had sex with a man who had literally wrestled with the devil. Instead, she began to dress, first putting on the white cotton bra, then she pulled her white T-shirt over her head and slid the obviously loved jeans over her shapely legs. "I'm glad you at least got rid of the bastard."

Sam couldn't help but be thrown off once again by the hardened tone, but he had to admit that while he knew some things about her past, he didn't know it all. At the very least, this time he was 99.99% sure she wasn't a demon who was going to completely betray him. She gathered her father's coat and gun and waited on Sam.

Though he had quickly run a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth, he noticed she was almost proudly wearing her bedhair. He pressed his lips to hers only to get a frown in return. "Not fair," she said. "I've got morning breath and you're all minty fresh."

He kissed her again, this time on the forehead, before opening the door to the hotel room. "You know," she said as he held the door open for her. "People will be wondering just what we got up to that it required army fatigues and a rifle."

Sam laughed as he followed behind her. Oh yes, he liked this woman very much.

#

Emma hadn't expected to be confronted immediately by Castiel, but he was the one to answer the door to the other hotel room, and he was looking at her expectantly. He obviously knew she was still not entirely at ease with everything, particularly with him.

"Did you two sleep well?" Bobby asked with a smug grin that was directed entirely at the tall man at Emma's back. It softened almost the instant his eyes met Emma's, and she could feel panic rising in her throat.  _He knows_.

She knew that look all too well. Nearly everyone in town had at some point or another given it to her, some still did.

"Betcha didn't sleep as good as Dean did," Bobby said. "He spent the night cuddling Feathers."

Emma swore she saw Castiel's cheeks turn pink momentarily, but as soon as she thought she saw it, the color was gone. She wondered if maybe there had been a reason she'd been misreading the relationship between Dean and Castiel, and if it had been a misread at all.

"He still can't sleep in close quarters with a person without wrapping himself around them?" Sam asked with a chuckle.

"Apparently not," Castiel said.

"Where are the cuddle bug and Johnny?" Sam asked loud enough that his voice filled the room.

"Shut up!" came the voice from the other side of the bathroom door. "And I'm giving the kid a bath!"

Though she would have expected the teasing of Dean, it was hard to imagine embarrassing something as powerful as Castiel, even by association. They obviously had no fear of the angel's powers. Even Emma, who had seen them first-hand the night before, was having trouble reconciling that this awkward man dressed like an accountant was the same creature that had turned a monster to ash.

"While you two were sleeping," Bobby said, "we tracked down the rest of the skinwalkers, or at least who they belonged to. Already provided cover stories for most of them, too."

"Do we have any connection on the families they were placed with?" Sam asked. It was strange to see the gentle man that she'd just been with immediately switch into detective mode, or rather "hunter" mode. He sat down at the laptop that was sitting on the dinette table and began scrolling through the list of names and the stats on each. "Were they all wealthy?"

"Not all, but we did find they had something in common," Bobby said in a cautious tone. "The people on that list, or at least someone in each of those houses, were people who might give in to the skinwalkers and actually want to be turned."

"So they all had some traumatic event in their lives," Sam said, and Emma felt her breath catch in her throat. "Even the wealthy ones?"

"If not them, someone who worked for them. George Masters had a lot of issues with his wife and how much power she held over their finances and the relationship. Butler had a housekeeper that was probably the target. She'd moved here after being robbed in Detroit. They probably counted on her wanting to be strong."

Emma could feel Castiel's presence at her side. She glanced over and could see a hand tentatively moving to her shoulder. She didn't know if it was because he thought she would be angry at him or blame him for somehow allowing what had happened to happen. Of course, it was also possible that Castiel simply didn't know how to deal with normal human interaction. It had been clear so far that he wasn't a natural in that area.

The hand jerkily moved back to his side.

Emma turned her attention to Sam who had, apparently, read more about the other people on that list. He was putting two and two together, and he was going to get four very soon. "Just show him," she said to Bobby. "I didn't make a secret of it when the asshole was prosecuted; there's no reason now." Still, it didn't mean she could watch Sam read it. "I'll just... I'll be outside."

She left the hotel room and was about to shut the door behind her when she felt another body moving through. She didn't have to look to know it was the angel. He closed the door and stood opposite Emma as she leaned against the wall between the door and window. "You apologized to me last night."

"I did."

"Why? Did you have something to do about it, know about it?"

Castiel shook his head. "But I know what is expected of angels, what we are supposed to represent, and that we failed that so many times over." His hands hung limply at his sides and his gravelly voice sounded genuinely contrite. "And I know that it must seem like an immense failure, given that I stay by the Winchesters' sides."

"No," she said, perhaps too quickly. "I see what they do. I get why they deserve to get a permanent guardian angel. They do a lot of good and are in a lot of danger."

"I am not... I am not here because heaven wanted them to have a guardian angel," the angel said. "I was originally sent to protect Dean on heaven's orders, but when I chose to stay after those orders ended, that was when I became a rebel."

"But I don't understand. Heaven, God... they don't care about humanity at all?" It was clear to Emma that humanity was what the brothers were here to protect. And if Heaven hadn't wanted Castiel to help, then Heaven clearly didn't want to protect humankind.

"That used to be true, of my brothers, at least." The angel sighed. "God left heaven, left my brothers in charge. He has never fully explained himself, but Father has returned and things have changed."

"Then why does He let bad things happen?"

Castiel's intense blue eyes met Emma's brown. "I know this is difficult to believe. And Dean would probably scoff at this, but free will, pain and happiness, all of it... Have you seen Wizard of Oz? It showed on the television at a motel a few months back. Dean complained about it the whole time, but didn't change the channel." The angel smiled slightly at the memory; he probably didn't even realize he'd done it. Emma felt she was beginning to understand why this powerful being had been so willing to rebel, even if he didn't. "It is like that. Black and white and then technicolor. I could never go back to being blindly obedient, loving my Father because I must and not because I choose to."

"But if you didn't know any better, how is it so bad?"

"The trouble is that I  _do_  know better now. I've seen... amazing things since leaving heaven. Horrible things, and I suppose both must exist. Knowing why it works that way is, as Dean says, 'above my pay grade.'" He closed his eyes for a moment then looked at her earnestly. "Still, there is nothing that compares to the freedom of free will."

"And when something goes horribly wrong? You just hope that something good comes of it?"

"Hope and faith help, yes. And sometimes, good comes of the bad. Sometimes there is a bigger plan, though the brothers would both tell you to be grateful if there isn't." The way the angel spoke, it made Emma about her conversation with Sam, the way he evaded some questions about himself, about his brother and the angel. "Sometimes what happens makes you stronger. And sometimes nothing good comes of it, but people like Dean and Sam Winchester and Bobby Singer stop it from happening again."

The door to the hotel room opened to Sam, and like that, Castiel was gone with only the sound of flapping wings.

"Emma..."

"Don't you dare apologize," she told him as he stood beside her.

"I didn't know. What we did, it didn't, I mean, I didn't make you think of that?"

Emma rolled her eyes at him because she was still trying to digest what Castiel had said, and all she could manage at the moment was sarcasm to the man she had made love to the night before. "I told you to be gentle. You were. And Sam, I have news for you, you weren't the first I've been with since the attack. It was six years ago and he's in jail for at least the next decade. Trust me, you are nothing like him." She took his hand in hers and smiled.

#

Castiel hadn't originally intended to go back to Bobby's home, but he found himself drawn there. When he arrived in Bobby's living room, he realized exactly why. Standing at the center of the room was Metatron arguing with Balthazar over what appeared to be wallpaper.

"We cannot just get started on this without permission. Bobby Singer's wife decorated this home, and he hasn't changed it in more than twenty years," Metatron said. Castiel found it interesting that once again the angel had managed to find a vessel from the United Kingdom. This redheaded woman sounded as though she was from Ireland. Her cheeks were ruddy, her eyes lightly wrinkled at the corners and her cheeks and the bridge of her nose were sparingly freckled.

Castiel still remembered Metatron's real form, and this hardly seemed to suit him.

"Oh," Balthazar said after a moment, his attention finally pulled away from Metatron, "Hello, Cassie." He gave an easy grin. "We were just fixing up the humble Winchester-Singer abode. Or rather, I was trying to, but Metatron keeps insisting that we 'ask permission.'"

Castiel's eyes moved to the female form who stood, glaring at Balthazar with arms crossed at the chest. "You have the sympathetic depth of a children's pool Balthazar. I wouldn't expect you to be at all understanding of actual emotions, but the fact is that it is rude for us to redecorate Mr. Singer's home without his sayso first."

"Is that what you are doing here?" Castiel asked as he watched Balthazar wave his hands and recover the walls in a new paper, one that appeared to have various sigils and protection emblems built into the vine-like designs.

Metatron nodded. "When I explained the situation to my vessel, she approved."

"And she's from Ireland?" Castiel asked.

"Not all of us can choose an ad representative from Illinois." He replied wryly in the Irish woman's lilting voice. As they were talking, Balthazar seemed determined to do what he wanted and was busy trying to replace Bobby's wallpaper.

"Fix  _that_ , why don't you," the blond angel said. "I torched the hunter-chic decor."

Metatron rolled his borrowed eyes and snapped thin fingers. The room returned to its former appearance. "At least make it difficult."

"You and Joshua had the brilliant idea to baby-proof this place. How exactly are we supposed to do that if you won't let us change a bloody thing?" Balthazar groused. Castiel dared a look out of the window to see Joshua carefully tending the newly green lawn, complete with what appeared to be a modest playground for Johnny.

The older angel seemed to sense Castiel's presence and looked up to offer him a wave. He looked as content as usual, though Castiel couldn't imagine he, himself, would be so calm were he placed on heaven's leading council.

"I called Castiel here to get permission," Metatron said. He turned his attention back to the darker-haired angel. "Please use that cell phone thing and contact Bobby Singer to ask for his approval before we make any changes to his house."

"Then what do I do in the meantime?" Balthazar asked, taking a few steps forward and looking at Metatron not unlike the way Dean did at the busty women who worked at the various bars the brothers frequented. "Maybe we can take advantage of that lovely Irish housewife you're inhabiting."

Castiel was in the process of dialing Dean's number as Metatron replied blandly to Balthazar, "Regardless of whether or not Colleen might be interested, I am not about to use her just to satisfy your baser pleasures."

"You make it sound like I would be the only one enjoying myself."

Metatron disregarded Balthazar's affronted tone. "I made a deal with her to use her as a vessel for the weekend and that I would help her burn off some of her baby fat. There are far more effective ways of doing that."

A voice on the other end of the phone finally pulled Castiel out of his siblings' bickering.

"Hey, Cas, where are you?" Dean asked. There was an edge of worry to his voice, and Cas was both pleased and unhappy to be the cause of it. Emotions were difficult enough to understand without conflicting ones to cause problems.

"I am at Bobby's house."

"Why're you at Bobby's?" Castiel could hear Bobby asking the same question in the background.

"Apparently, my brothers decided that Johnny deserved a welcome home gift. They are 'baby-proofing.'" Castiel then heard Dean relaying this to Bobby, who quickly demanded that the older Winchester hand over the phone to him.

"What is your idiot family doing to  _my_  house?" Bobby snapped into the phone.

"More than perhaps you would want them to. They are trying to get rid of the lead paint." Bobby muttered that was fine. "Replacing the wallpaper that was peeling."

There was a pause on Bobby's end. "I guess that needs to be done, too. Don't let them make my place look like crap. If they're going to fix it up, make sure they do it right."

Metatron placed a hand at Castiel's arm. He had always been much more tactile than the rest of the angels, and Castiel felt that probably was with good reason, considering how different his background was. "There was a spare room upstairs, one that was still storage. We would like to convert it to a bedroom and nursery for Johnny."

Castiel remembered just how difficult it had been for Bobby to finally clear out the former master bedroom, which Dean had claimed, and the tiny guest bedroom for Sam. It had been a slow and emotionally draining process, even for the angel. Every box was shifted to the room at the far end of the hall, and Bobby had been so obviously distressed by the whole process that Dean had made only one passing comment about the fact that his new bedroom appeared to have a fresher coat of white paint than anywhere else in the house. He had seemed to realize that the repainting of only that room since Karen's death signified something bad for the older hunter.

"There was also the spare room upstairs, the one that has been used as storage," Castiel said, tentatively. He could see enough of what was in these boxes to know that they were filled with Bobby's wife's things.

"Just... move them to the attic. Needed cleared out years ago."

"I will see to them personally," the angel promised. "We can still find some other place for Johnny. You don't need to uproot everything."

"You suggest that again and I'll kick your ass, Cas. You and Dean are going to need all the help you can get, and I'll be damned if you're going to stay somewhere else." Castiel was shocked at the determination in the man's voice, not only for Dean and Johnny's sake, which he expected, but for his own. He was also surprised at how certain Bobby was that the angel would be such a key part of Johnny's life, of all their lives.

"Understood."

Bobby apparently handed the phone back to Dean, since it was his voice that finished off the call. "Bobby approved the angelic babyproofing?"

"In no uncertain terms," Castiel replied. "But I am to supervise their work. If you need me..."

"I know. I just pray." There was a pause and the angel nearly hung up the phone. "Hey, Cas, leave something for me to do when we get there with Johnny. I don't want your family getting all the credit."

"Of course, Dean." Dean ended the call at that and Castiel put his phone back in his trench coat.


	17. Make Room for Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angels take over renovations of Bobby's home as the boys arrive back in Sioux Falls.

Chapter 17

Make Room for Baby

_"It's true that every time you hear a bell, an angel gets its wings. But what they don't tell you is that every time you hear a mouse trap snap, an angel gets set on fire."_

_Jack Handy, SNL writer_

Metatron had gotten very little interaction with Castiel over the last few years, and he couldn't help but find it amusing as the angel who had once been among one of heaven's most loyal and faithful had come so far. So much so, in fact, that when the discussion had come to who was going to redecorate the nursery, Castiel had not only insisted that he would be the one taking care of the room, but he had climbed the stairs to get there. It hadn't even seemed to cross the angel's mind to fly upstairs.

In the meantime, Metatron was left with Balthazar, refinishing and cleaning the downstairs. Azrael had appeared with a gift from the council, a rather large metallic mobile that dominated the ceiling of the nursery. Metatron had given the Angel of Death a wide berth as she hung the piece of abstract art in the room, though he'd watched her closely, and Balthazar had purposely stayed as far away as possible. He'd defied death on more than one occasion. Apparently, he wasn't up for pushing his luck.

Castiel, on the other hand, had remained in the nursery and observed the more powerful angel's every movement with a stern expression on his face. Though Azrael could easily squash Castiel like a bug, the once low-level angel had stood his ground to ensure that Azrael's presence did not mean that harm would come to any member of the family that Castiel so clearly loved.

The Angel of Death had since moved on to the kitchen, insisting that she would take care of cleaning and stocking it for the family's return home. That left Metatron and Balthazar to carefully organize the elder hunter's books and various paraphernalia. "This is written in Enochian," Metatron said, though the language's name hardly rolled off his tongue. It still felt odd that what would become the angelic tongue had been borrowed from what had once been his name.

"I told you that Bobby Singer had the best-stocked pantry in the whole world. He's a paranoid bugger, but if you need something something in a pinch, you're bound to find it here," Balthazar said, and the other angel didn't doubt that he spoke from experience.

Metatron placed the book on the shelf, trailing borrowed fingers over the leather-bound volumes. The man had books that even Metatron hadn't realized were published. Books that, if he had time, he would love to immerse himself in. He could learn to like Bobby Singer if for no other reason than the man seemed to possess some taste.

"Are you absolutely sure that your vessel wouldn't prefer for you to be stroking something other than some dusty old hunter books?" Balthazar said. Metatron gave him a disapproving look. "Don't look at me like you've just eaten a sour lemon." The blond angel waved his hand and reupholstered the furniture in the room. "A lonely Irish housewife has got to be looking for more excitement in her life than redecorating."

With a roll of his eyes, Metatron stood and walked over as close as he could possibly get to Balthazar. "If I decide to remind myself of what sex is like, Balthazar, or experiment with the female form, what on earth makes you think you would get to help in any way?"

When he watched Balthazar stammer and heard Colleen laughing in the background of his grace, Metatron could only chuckle as he moved to fix the hallway.

_#_

Dean had asked Sam if he was sure he didn't want to stay behind. Really, the older brother understood, and he swore not to make too much fun of his baby brother for all the kissy faces and promises to call. In fact, he thought it was kind of nice. Here was a girl, turned out to be normal and still alive after sleeping with Sam. Though Dean wouldn't normally say it aloud, Sam didn't have the best track record with women. That the younger man still put himself out there made him far braver than Dean.

He knew that if he had been the one to score the night with Emma, he wouldn't be trying to set up a way to meet again soon, for her to come to Bobby's of all places. That she lived only about four hours away from Sioux Falls helped the potential for this whatever-it-was to be something more. Dean wouldn't have taken advantage of that, but Sam was. And, well, good for him.

At the moment, Dean was more curious about the fact that Bobby's home was apparently swarming with angels all trying to help Cas out. Bobby was, for obvious reasons, not pleased with this turn of events. Dean supposed it was nice that Cas finally had the support of some of his brothers, but it made him wonder just where they had been when the angel had needed them.

Dean also didn't want to admit that he was irritated at the idea that Cas might not need him so much, or that the angel might come to rely on his brothers instead. He recognized he could be a selfish bastard with the people he cared about sometimes. Though he could share them with others, he didn't like to. He hadn't liked sharing Sam with his life at Stanford. He found it was no different with Cas.

Sam would hear nothing of staying behind, though Dean and Bobby both had suggested it. Apparently, he wanted to help with the preparations for Johnny. He also mentioned that Dean probably needed someone in the car with him to entertain Johnny and that it would be a good idea to rotate passengers to keep the baby content.

He could have told his little brother that a passenger wouldn't be necessary. The boy seemed content to watch the world outside and to listen to Dean's music. After a few hours, maybe even minutes, in the back of the vehicle, the boy would then probably fall asleep. Still, if Sam wanted the chance to play uncle, who was Dean to deny him?

Of course, Dean also realized his brother was smart enough to foresee potential problems if Bobby Singer, Dean's mouth and a bunch of self-righteous angels were all confined to Bobby's house. The trouble that could come from that combination was dangerous without a mediator or two.

So, while Dean was busy buckling Johnny into his seat, the younger Winchester brother was saying goodbye to Emma and giving her one last kiss to remember him by. It was almost too sappy for Dean to handle. Of course, he was the one who was busy talking to his son about Led Zepplin in a voice that really made him feel like he should be relinquishing his man card. But dads were allowed to be a little goofy when it came to their kids. Even their own had managed it from time to time, so it wasn't quite like he was throwing stones from his own personal glass house.

When Sam returned to the car, Dean was in the driver's seat ready to take off. Bobby had already left in his minivan because, so he claimed, it wasn't as fast as the Impala and would quickly be overtaken by the classic car. Not that Dean bought that excuse for a second. No, he knew Bobby wanted to get to his house as quickly as possible to see to the angels currently overrunning it, and he wasn't going to wait for Sam to finish his lovey-dovey talk.

"So," Dean said as Sam climbed into the car and turned around to make a goofy face at Johnny, "things went well with you and Emma?"

"So..." Sam said, mimicking his tone, "you cuddled with Cas last night."

He scowled at his brother and tried to ignore his face heating up from embarrassment. He couldn't help it if he naturally sought out the warm body beside him when he was asleep. How could he be held to blame for his actions while he was unconscious? "I was just asking out of brotherly interest, Bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure you were." He watched Dean pop in one of his tapes and groaned. "Don't you think it's cruel to subject your son to this stuff? Dad did it to you and me. Dude, end the cycle of abuse."

Dean looked in the rearview mirror at his son and grinned. "Ignore your Uncle Sammy, kiddo. This is good stuff." As the strains of Wayward Son began to play, he could hear Johnny cooing and "aahing" in the back seat as though he was trying to sing along. "See," he said to Sam. "Kid knows awesome music when he hears it."

He grinned and tore off down the road. Since his son was already serenading them from the back seat, it didn't seem like such a bad idea to join in. "I was soaring ever higher. But I flew too high..."

And despite his earlier complaints, Sam sang along.

#

Castiel had tried not to tense as Azrael made her presence known by hanging an enormous mobile that looked more worthy of an art museum than a child's bedroom. It was incredibly abstract and all centered on a black and chrome item that was undoubtedly supposed to be the Impala. There were little symbols meant the represent the Winchesters, Bobby, Castiel, the various angels there that day as well as Gabriel, even heaven and Hell.

As a work of art, it was quite beautiful and remarkable. As a child's decoration it was almost a little too meaningful, a little too deep. Had it been another angel, Castiel might have commented on this, but given that it was the angel of death, who also happened to be an archangel, who was presenting this gift, the lesser angel didn't fell he was in a position to reject the present.

The crib was assembled, but a few of Johnny's toys, along with a toy box remained for Dean put together. The angel had considered leaving the crib for the new father, but Metatoron-who had since resumed monitoring Balthazar's work in the upstairs hallways-had suggested that the crib was too much of a necessity to forego until Dean could get around to constructing it. Unlike his siblings, Castiel had usually took Metatron's advice to heart, and he found it more important now.

Still, Castiel hadn't been able to bring himself to use his grace to complete the project. He had followed the largely pictoral instructions that had come in the box to assemble Johnny's new bed. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out where some of the extra screws belonged, and he had gone over his work multiple times.

He resigned himself to having extra pieces; the crib seemed secure enough.

"I hear the rumble of an old car barreling up the driveway and the rattle of a junker going along with it." Balthazar flew into the room and smirked at Castiel testing and retesting the crib's security. "Your better half and the in-laws are nearly here."

"And you aren't leaving?" Castiel asked his brother, a little incredulously.

"I wanted to, but you know Metatron. He isn't letting me go until Bobby gives his approval."

"What of Joshua and Azrael?"

"Joshua left as quietly as he came. Azrael has been... stocking and working in the kitchen. She seems oddly interested in the Winchesters." Balthazar didn't need to add that this was unusual for Azrael, and often times, it meant something bad for whomever she showed interest in. Castiel certainly couldn't think of a time when it was good news to have the angel of death showing extra attention to someone, even if she had typically been kind to Castiel.

He walked down the stairs at the same time the front door was opening. "Well, I ain't complaining about what the feathered flock did to my front yard or the house. It hasn't looked that good ... well, not in years."

Sam was opening the front door with Bobby at his side. Behind them, Dean was carrying Johnny on his hip while the little boy's large eyes took in his surroundings. "You're home, kiddo," the new father said as he carried the baby across the threshhold of Bobby's house.

"Are you absolutely sure this is still my house?" Bobby asked. His eyes met Castiel's. "What the hell did your miracle boys do?"

"You have me to thank for all of this. I think I did a fairly smashing job of it, if I do say so myself." At that, Johnny let out a well-timed raspberry with his tongue between his lips. "Everyone's a critic."

"How very typical of you, Balthazar," came an Irish brogue from the living room, "taking credit for all of the work when you just put up a little bit of paper."

"Well, not all of us have the woman's eye, quite literally, for decorating that you do," Balthazar replied with a smirk. "Where in Ireland did you borrow that lovely lass?"

"Cork," he answered.

"Why don't you keep her. She's got a fantastic set of-"

Before Balthazar could finish the thought, Metatron cut him off. "Just for the weekend." Blue eyes narrowed on Castiel and Balthazar. There was enough disgust there that it made even Castiel step back. "Unlike some, I don't hijack a body for years." Her glare intensified as it focused on the blond angel. "Or decades."

_If only Metatron knew just how bad it was for Jimmy,_  Castiel thought.  _He would be much angrier at me than with him._

Metatron extended his hand to Bobby first. "I am Metatron, and if we have done anything here that you don't like, I'll fix it immediately. I didn't want them to completely undo the work your wife put into your home. I know how much that means."

"You're an angel. Don't give me that shit." Bobby's wife was a touchy subject and had always been. Perhaps had it not been, the hunter would have realized that Metatron was the only angel who could understand his situation. Castiel didn't doubt that Bobby knew the story behind Metatron's creation, but in his attempt to pacify Bobby, Metatron had poured salt in a slowly healing wound.

"Before I became Metatron, my name was Enoch. My wife, Edna, my children, they were my world."

"Wait," Dean said, moving closer to Castiel, since Johnny was already reaching out for the angel, "you were human? And now you're part of the angel squad?" Metatron nodded. Dean paused a moment, visibly making the effort to put the pieces together. "Your name was Enoch, as in Enochian?"

Castiel took Johnny from his father's arm and allowed the child to grip him tightly and bury his face in the angel's trench coat. He found himself instinctively resting his own cheek against the child's head as he had seen Dean do several times over the last few days. It was better for him to focus on Johnny rather than state aloud how impressed he was that Dean connected the dots, so to speak, about Metatron's identity. Any praise would likely have insulted Dean's pride, given that the angel had actually expected less of him.

"Call me the court stenographer of heaven," Metatron said with a small smile as his eyes turned in Castiel's direction. (Though he had taken a female form for the night, of all of the angels, Metatron identified with a gender because he had once been a male, and Castiel couldn't think of him as a female or even genderless, regardless of his form.) He ignored the other hunters and walked to his side to place a hand at the baby's back. "I remember when Methuselah was that age."

Dean mouthed the word "Methuselah" to Sam. The name apparently rang some bells for the older brother, but he was wise enough not to speak them aloud. Such forethought seemed almost worthy of a reward. Which would, again, be insulting to the elder Winchester if Castiel were to speak that thought aloud.

"Mr. Singer," Metatron said as he turned back to Bobby. "Is everything satisfactory, or would you like for us to set things back? Upstairs, we only gave Dean's usual bedroom a fresh coat of paint and modified the storage room that is now the nursery. And you can clearly see our handiwork here."

"I've got no complaints so far," Bobby said as he stuck his head into the living room. "The outside of the house looks too nice to be mine."

"I'll let Joshua know," Metatron said. "He was so happy to be able to help. He said he'd met Dean and Sam before and it hadn't been a happy meeting."

"That's an understatement," Sam muttered.

"You haven't mentioned the kitchen, oh great stenographer," Balthazar said.

"I was getting to that," Metatron said.

"What did you do to my kitchen?" Bobby snapped.

"I have no idea. We all left Azrael to her work."

Sam grabbed hold of Metatron's arm. "Wait, wait, wait. What is the angel of death doing in this house?"

#

"Housecleaning," said a British voice as the kitchen doors opened. She was tall and lean, almost bony. Her cheekbones probably would have been more prominent were it not for the mousy brown hair that hung about her face. Unremarkable brown eyes were set on either side of a nose that was just a bit large and slightly hooked, but somehow well suited to her face. Her skin was lightly tanned, but something about it made it appear almost waxy and unnatural in the light.

Sam couldn't understand how this woman-likely some poor vessel chosen because of her bloodline-could house an angel frightening enough that Balthazar looked a little white in the face and Metatron was stumbling for words. Castiel, however, was undeterred and staying firm in his spot; at least, he was as much as Dean would let him. Despite the fact that he was very much a human man who could die and this was the angel-of-freaking"death, Sam's idiot brother had placed himself directly in front of Castiel and Johnny.

"Housecleaning?" Dean asked, sounding doubtful.

"Yes," she said with a roll of brown eyes. "This kitchen was a case of food poisoning waiting to happen." She slid the pocket doors open and revealed a sparkling kitchen that, aside from a thorough cleaning and perhaps a few repair jobs, had been completely untouched.

"It really didn't take long," Azreal said with the teasing of a smile on her thin lips, "so I thought I might as well stock it with a few things. Sam, you will find a bowl of chicken and shrimp salad from that restaurant two blocks from your apartment while you were at Stanford. Bobby, there is sushi from that little place in Nagasaki on the shelf above that. And Dean, I've been keeping bacon cheeseburgers and onion rings warm in the oven. They came from that restaurant where you ordered the veggie burger in an effort to outmaneuver a prophecy. It was a neat trick. Pointless, but fun to watch."

Dean's attention was drawn to the kitchen table, and he pointed an accusatory finger. "And what's that?"

Azrael gave the burger a sidelong look and then focused her attention back on Dean. "That would be my half-eaten bacon cheeseburger. It seems just compensation for doing all of this." She took a few steps toward Dean and looked him coolly in the eyes. She was actually a few inches shorter and yet behaved like she was much taller than Sam's brother. "Or do you disagree, Dean?"

Thankfully, Dean's brain kicked in and told him to back down, at least enough to save his own hide. "I guess it would make us even. You know Oprah named them best in the country."

Azreal wore that little half-smile as she went back to pick up her hamburger and take a bite. "I completely agree. Oh, and there's pie." She took another bite and her eyes closed as she seemed to savor Dean's second favorite food. "Enjoy your dinner, Boys."

And with that, she disappeared. All of the other angels looked relieved, but leave it to Dean to immediately go to the oven and pull out the still-warm bacon cheeseburgers, far more than he could or should eat in one sitting, and then snag an entire pie for himself. "You might all act like she's the scariest shit out there," Dean said, "but I think she's in contention for my favorite angel."

Cas just wore that constipated expression he had whenever he was irritated, usually with Dean.


	18. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family is home. And there's pie.

_"He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home."_

_Johan Wolfgang von Goethe, German writer and artist_

Dean set Johnny on the floor of new nursery and watched as the boy inched himself across the floor. "That's my boy. Commando crawl it!" He couldn't help but cheer along as the boy tried to make his way over to the shiny new toys that the angels had provided for him. The encouragement from his father only served to make the little legs and arms move faster, and Dean just applauded him on.

He felt a familiar presence at his side. "Don't you dare go telling your family," he said to the angel, "but they did a decent job on Johnny's room." Dean had yet to see his own, but he was already impressed with the work that had gone into the previously unused, cluttered and otherwise filthy storage room.

"I was the one in charge of this room."

Dean couldn't help but smile at that. Cas was getting damned attached to Johnny, and that was good news, as far as he was concerned. It meant the angel wasn't about to go anywhere any time soon. He'd had enough of the people he cared about leaving him one way or another, and after the events of last year, how close they'd come to losing Cas to this "God" nonsense, he liked that Johnny was an added incentive for the angel to stick around. "The crib is your handiwork?"

The angel nodded. "Metatron said it came from Ikea." He frowned. "The instructions were very confusing. There were pieces I could not find anywhere in the pictures, and I could not find where they went on the crib. I have tested it. It is very secure despite those defects."

"You assembled the thing yourself?" Dean had to admit some surprise when he saw his friend nod, and it only got stronger when he nodded to his second question. "By hand?" He laughed. "Man, super-powered angel, and you're acting like a normal human dad." He patted the trenchcoat-covered shoulder.

"But I am not his father. You are."

"Maybe," Dean said, "but the kid's going to have father figures out the wazoo. That includes you." Dean wasn't sure the last time he'd seen Cas smile the way he was now. This wasn't the typical little smirk that showed he found something amusing. This was damned near a grin, except the lips were as tightly closed as ever.

"So who exactly is behind that piece of modern art that Sammy'll probably knock his big head on?" Despite his jokes about the thing, it was pretty damned cool in his opinion.

"The council. Azrael brought it here and said it was from all of them. That includes Joshua, so I trust there's nothing wrong with it."

Dean nodded and stared up at the thing, spotting what he though was meant to represent himself, Johnny, Cas, Sam and Bobby. There were other angels at the periphery, and his Baby holding it all together. It was an unusual and abstract thing that looked more Sam's taste than his own, but it was pretty awesome. The only thing that troubled Dean was that it came from the very mysterious angelic council.

"Does it bother you at all that you don't know three of the five members of the council?"

"It is not the most comforting thought," the angel admitted hesitantly, "but I trust Joshua. He has never sought a position of power in heaven, and I do not believe he truly wants this one. And Azrael, though she has great power, has never wanted anything other than her duty to guide souls through heaven's gates."

Something about that didn't quite click. Dean had seen the looks on the other angels' faces. It was clear that while they didn't fear her, per se, they sure as hell weren't comfortable with her. If an angel is strong enough to make its own brothers uncomfortable, Dean would have expected she'd be able to do a little more than serve as a taxi service for the faithful flock. "Wait, that's all she does?"

"It is all she does do. Not all she  _can_  do." Subtlety was not usually Cas's strong point. It was a pretty strong indicator of just how powerful that chick-angel was given that he hadn't outright detailed Azrael's abilities and why the other angels looked about as at ease with her as Dean used to be with fire as a kid. The hunter suspected that even Cas didn't know everything she could do.

Dean opted to take another look at the mobile as he processed the fact that he'd just eaten food-a lot of it-that had been brought to him by an angel that had managed to worry even Cas.

"While we are on the subject of Azrael," Cas said as Johnny bounced nearly in time to music played by a plastic Octopus, "did you feel she was a threat?"

"It was possible," Dean said, glancing over at Cas, then watching Johnny rocking out to a song about the ABCs.

"Then why did you place yourself in front of me? Because I had Johnny?"

"Well, yeah," Dean said. He sure as hell wasn't going to admit out loud that he might have done it anyway, Johnny or not. That would just get him a lecture about how Cas was all juiced up again-and then some-and Dean was only mortal and should not risk his life protecting someone who could live forever.

"You're right," Cas said, staring at Dean in that way that only the angel could manage to stare. "It would."

Dean punched his friend on the arm. "Outta my head. Besides, you didn't exactly back down, either. If she's so all-powerful, why didn't you look intimidated like the others?"

"It was a good bluff," Cas said. "I have learned how to pretend that I stand a chance against something much more powerful than I am."

Dean chuckled. "I wonder where you picked that up?"

"From you, of course. Bobby and Sam to a lesser extent."

"That was rhetorical, Cas." Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey, do you think the pie Azrael bought was safe?"

"No less deadly than your burgers," the angel replied. "It's quite good."

Dean smiled, but that quickly faded when he processed all of Cas's words. "Wait, you had some of my pie?"

"I tried a slice. I think I like pie."

"'Course you do. It's pie, and pie's awesome."

#

Sam found Bobby standing in the middle of his living room, looking more than a little lost. The man was so distracted it seemed he hadn't even heard the tall hunter approach, and Sam knew he was anything but light on his feet. He placed a hand on Bobby's shoulder and watched as his adoptive father started at the sudden contact. "How are you doing with this?"

"I've had better days." Bobby sighed. "The angels did a halfway decent job of keeping us safe. The wall paper's got all kinds of sigils and symbols built into the pattern, but it isn't the stuff Karen hung up." He took a long look around the room. "And it just about kills me."

"Metatron said it could all be put back."

"No. I want your brother and the kid to stay, and this place needed a hell of a lot of TLC for that to happen and not have all of us worrying about what he was getting into, crawling over, or eating off of."

Sam gave Bobby a small smile. "At least Cas was here to reign Balthazar in. God knows what he'd have done to the house if he'd have been left to his own devices."

"Cas?" Bobby asked with a snort. "Cas has no power over that idgit. But that Metatron, I get the impression she-er, he-has Balthazar by the short hairs." Bobby took a seat behind the desk and began glancing through the drawers for all of the things that he kept there. Sam watched him tug forcefully on one of the drawers and swear as it only opened an inch or so.

"What the hell did they do to my desk?"

Sam caught sight of something white as Bobby slammed the drawer shut and tried again. "Let me," he said as he walked over to the desk and pulled the drawer out, at first only the inch it allowed. After pressing on the white piece of plastic inside, he said, "Baby proofed."

Bobby groused again, doing a fairly impressive Yosemite Sam impression. "Looks like there's a note, too." The hunter picked up the yellow square of paper and read, "Dangerous stuff here, Baby proofing will only work a few months more. Find the key so you can properly lock this drawer. Metatron."

He wadded up the sticky note and tossed it across the room.

"You know, we could have kept that. It's an angelic relic."

"No one is going to build a chapel around an old Post-It note," Bobby said.

The younger hunter laughed. "They've built them around less." He was about to ask Bobby what was taking Dean so long upstairs, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Sam could hear Dean and Cas coming down the stairs. The elder brother had his arm thrown around Cas's shoulder, and he looked fairly pleased with him. There was no sign of Johnny, so Sam could only assume the boy had fallen asleep upstairs.

"How about apple? Did she bring apple?" Sam's brother asked the angel as they stepped into the living room. Cas looked somewhat uncertain about the contact or Dean's easy smile.

"She did. I have not tasted it yet," Cas said. There was something about the way he had answered, pausing just momentarily as though to answer correctly. It set off warning bells-not the big, important ones, just the kind that told him Dean wasn't going to like this-in Sam's head. Dean had caught on as well. His friendly arm around Cas's shoulders quickly dropped to Dean's side.

"What one did you try?" he asked as the two made their way into the kitchen.

"Blueberry," Cas answered. "...And the raspberry. And pecan..." The angel was looking at his feet.

"Nothing to get your feathers in a twist over," Dean reassured the angel. Sam very nearly felt his jaw hit the floor. His brother should have been, if prior experience was anything to go by, pissed as hell that Cas had just tried all of his pies. "As long as you left some for me." Sam could hear Bobby snickering as Cas's contrite behavior continued. In fact, it appeared to get even worse.

"You  _did_  leave some for me, didn't you?"

"Balthazar and Metatron wished to try as well. We did not realize just how much of the pies we had consumed until they were gone."

" _All of them_?"

"I saved the apple." Even Cas seemed to realize that the one pie out of four made for a pithy silver lining to the situation.

"I thought you told me that you had 'a slice' of pie."

"I did have a slice." Cas was finally looking at Dean fully, and though Sam couldn't see the angel's face clearly, he was certain Cas was shooting Dean the sad puppy eyes that the younger brother had once sworn he, himself, had solely perfected. "Of each."

"Cas, you can't just-" And before Cas could finish his thought, Cas was gone. There was a lot of swearing at first.

"Can you believe that?" he finally asked Sam and Bobby, looking for someone to commiserate with him. He wasn't going to get much sympathy as they were both moments away from roaring in laughter. Dean looked like a small child denied a candy bar at the grocery check-out.

The winged trio ate my pie, and Ms. Creepy ate one of my burgers. Why can't you two like food angels want to steal?"

"You're just special like that," Bobby replied.

"Yeah, well, I've had enough being special to last a lifetime," Dean said.

"Tell me about it," Sam said.

As suddenly as Cas had disappeared, he popped back into the kitchen. At least, it appeared to be him. Sam could make out the suit pant-covered legs and the bottom of the tan trench coat, but everything else was covered by the largest stack of pie boxes Sam had ever seen a person carry at once. "I have replaced the blueberry, the raspberry and pecan. I also purchased peach, lemon meringue, coconut cream, French silk-which isn't silk at all, but chocolate, apparently-strawberry-rhubarb, and something called shoo-fly."

Dean immediately grabbed the top few boxes and set them on the table, and Sam made his way into the kitchen to help with the middle third of the stack.

"How did you pay for all of this?" he asked, trying to ignore that his older brother now looked like a six-year-old on Christmas morning.

"Found money. It doesn't take long to search the places people are likely to lose it. Though, I do wish to return a few of the larger bills to their original owners."

"You can actually tell who had what?" Dean asked. Cas just cocked his head to the side and gave Dean a disbelieving look. Sam was vaguely reminded of Gabriel at that moment, and had it been him in the place of Cas, the archangel would likely have said in a drawn-out, annoyed tone, "Hellooo. Angel."

As it was, Cas only gave Dean that look.

"Since you've got all those pies," Bobby said as he walked out into the kitchen "and I'm a bit partial to shoo fly pie, I might as well help you out before you give yourself diabetes trying to eat them all."

Though Dean said nothing, Sam swore he looked more put out at the idea of having to share his pies with them than when he'd realized Cas had eaten (or at least participated in the devouring of) the three original ones.

Sam had given up a long time ago trying to understand Dean's relationship with the angel. He had to admit, though, as he watched his brother shove a slice of apple into Cas's hands and then practically force-feed him, that Emma's misconceptions about them had some merit. If Sam wasn't absolutely certain that his brother was completely straight and Cas wasn't taking up nearly permanent residence in a male vessel, he might have considered mentioning that  _maybe_  it wasn't such a bad idea for them to be something more than just friends.


	19. Secrets at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys never learn their lesson about keeping things to themselves.

_"Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one."_

_Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

The house was quiet, thought not as restful as Castiel would have liked. Johnny's nap had carried over into his sleep for the evening, leaving Dean alone in his bed for the first time since the baby came into his life. Castiel didn't think his charge was having nightmares yet, but it was probably only a matter of time before they struck that night. Surprisingly, Dean had not reached for one of the bottles of Bobby's cheap whiskey, and while it was admirable, it likely meant for very little sleep tonight for the hunter. Bobby's rest wasn't sound, and the angel assumed that had more to do with the changes made to the house his wife had so lovingly decorated and his memories of her. As for Sam, he seemed... off. That was really the only word that Castiel could think of to describe it.

Still, it was quiet enough to allow him to do his research.

It was not something that he had told to any of the hunters, and though he knew he shouldn't continue to keep secrets from them after the events of the year prior, this was something he felt he needed to do on his own. At least, he needed to be sure of a few more things before he spoke to the hunters or to his brethren. Though, he was beginning to suspect he would need to consult all of them before he had any answers or even something that resembled the potential to an answer.

The thought of it caused an unpleasant twisting sensation in his stomach. He had had enough reminders of everything he'd risked and nearly risked in his attempt to win the civil war, and every time one of those reminders surfaced or was pointed out to him, Dean gave him that same look that he'd offered when he'd left Castiel trapped in the ring of fire. He had lost their trust that night, had been working to rebuild it ever since, and he felt that same unpleasant twisting when he thought of them finding out that he had lost something else in his deals with Crowley.

He could not feel Jimmy's presence any longer. Jimmy had retreated to the back of his mind out of his disapproval of everything that the angel was doing the prior year, but Castiel had still sensed him from time to time, whenever he sought him out. After the angel had opened Purgatory, he hadn't thought to seek him out. He was too busy trying to prove himself once again to those who ... were important to him, to those he couldn't just pin down to the corner of a borrowed mind and force to talk to him. He would have Jimmy as long as he occupied the man's body. The hunters' lives were finite.

He felt ashamed for not noticing that Jimmy wasn't there-as his attempts to rout out the man's soul had only served to prove he was alone now in this body. He would like to claim that he had just been too overwhelmed with all of the souls and then the suddenness of their absence that he hadn't noticed the hole left behind by a single missing soul, no matter how well acquainted he was with it or how much he now missed it. But he knew better. He hadn't wanted to know, didn't like the answer he may find.

Castiel was already well aware of how little existed in heaven on the subject of Purgatory. It was a place no angel wanted to think about, a place they were instructed  _not_  to think about, but Bobby Singer would not ever again be caught without knowledge on the subject. Castiel knew that if there was a chance, any at all, that a book existed about Purgatory, the souls that were there and how to retrieve them-or at least one-that Bobby either had a copy, excerpts or knew how to track down the documents.

Since Johnny had been added to their unusual group, Castiel had attempted to seek the man's soul out; Jimmy was a parent and had experience with typical baby things. And, despite their differences of late, he could not believe that his vessel would allow him and Dean to flounder as they attempted to act as parents. Up until that point, Castiel had assumed the silence had been just that. When he felt no nudge back to his requests for help, not even so much as a wave of anger or disappointment after even his most thorough attempts to find Jimmy, Castiel knew that odd feeling he'd sensed for months now was the absence of his vessel's soul.

Unfortunately, the only thing that made any sense to the angel was that he unintentionally released Jimmy into Purgatory with the other souls, and Castiel needed to know just what he had forced the kind ad salesman into and how he could try to get him out. And he  _would_  tell the hunters, even his brethren if it came to it.

But for tonight, he could research.

Bobby had, apparently, uncovered the writings of Dr. Visyak about Purgatory. They detailed things that the woman-because despite the fact that she was actually a creature from that realm, his last memories of her were very human-wasn't willing to tell him, even when he had been promising her freedom. He keenly remembered that look of hope on her face and how it turned to anger and panic just before he flew away.

Bobby's voice after the hunters had brought him back from the facility, broken and guilt-ridden, was still clear in Castiel's mind. _"She said you were the worst! What did you do to her?"_

What could he answer? He had given her hope. He had healed all of her wounds, begun undoing her bindings. He had convinced her that she was going to be free, and she had told him everything he had needed to know. Then he had knocked her unconscious and left her to Crowley once again.

And now he was once again benefiting from the woman he had betrayed. Benefiting might not have been the most accurate word for it, since there was no benefit to realizing all of the suffering that Jimmy was likely undergoing at this very moment, and that was if his soul had survived even the first few days. Jimmy hadn't been made for the hunt; Castiel's fighting had frightened him more often than not. According to Dr. Vixyak, Jimmy was now stuck in a world of an endless hunt.

#

When Sam came down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as he could so that he didn't wake Bobby, Johnny or his brother, he found himself trying to dodge piles of books that were no longer there and having to blindly unfasten the new gate perched at the top of the stairs. Though the baby-proofing was a much-appreciated necessity during daylight hours, the younger hunter couldn't say he was so pleased with it during the night, and he really didn't want to wake his new nephew. Sam wasn't familiar enough with the baby to know if he slept soundly or not, especially when not in the bed with Dean. His sock-covered feet padded through the hallway and into the livingroom, where he saw Cas pushing a book into Bobby's bookshelf.

"Doing a little light reading?" Sam asked, quietly.

Castiel didn't look surprised by his presence, but Sam couldn't really be shocked about that. The angel seemed able to sense both Sam and his brother.

"Metatron mentioned that he was impressed with Bobby's collection. I realized that I may have been taking it for granted and thought I might give it a more thorough look." The angel tilted his head to the side. "You should be sleeping. It is 3 a.m."

Sam shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. And I was kind of hoping you would be here so I could talk to you." He scratched the back of his head and tried not to look like he was exhausted. It was very possible that Cas would take it upon himself to make Sam go to sleep, and talking to the angel was far more important at the moment. "Wanna grab a beer with me in the kitchen?"

The angel frowned, but didn't voice any concerns at Sam's behavior or the sudden offer of beer. "I am not nearly as fond of it as you or your brother. It would make more sense not to waste it."

"It's not a waste if you're sharing it with a friend," Sam assured him. "And I know you may not like it much, but I'm going to need something to have this conversation with you."

The worried expression on Castiel's face became more distinct, and even Sam, who was not nearly as good at reading the angel as his brother was able to tell that he was more troubled now than he had been before. Thankfully, he was a man, or angel, of few words and had even learned a little patience rather than trying to demand answers when it came to things that were personal Sam or his brother. "Then, I would not mind having a beer with you," he said as he followed Sam into Bobby's kitchen.

Sam immediately shut the doors behind him and looked at the angel with as much seriousness as he could muster. "What I'm going to tell you has to be between the two of us. For now, at least." He could already see that the Angel didn't like that, and he could understand why. Keeping secrets had caused a lot of trouble for Cas in the past, and he was just beginning to get Dean to trust him the way he once had. The reluctance to keep something from him, even for Sam's sake, was perfectly natural.

Opening the refrigerator door, Sam pulled out two bottles of beer. He popped the top on one and handed it to Cas, then repeated the process for his own bottle. He took note of the fact that while Azrael had upgraded the typical fare in terms of food, she had done nothing to improve the options for drink. The beer was still the cheap crap that Dean was so eager to chug down and the whiskey hadn't been swapped out for anything that might burn Bobby's throat a little less. Sam sighed and was just grateful that, at the very least, it wasn't Pabst Blue Ribbon-no matter how much Ash had tried to convince him that Pabst was "awesome," Sam had never acquired a taste for it.

Cas sat down at the table, his fingernail lightly dragging over a edge of the beer label. Sam took the seat opposite, noting that the chair to his right had been moved to accommodate a high chair. "I do not like keeping secrets from your brother, Sam," the angel said.

"I'm not going to keep this from Dean forever. He just has a lot on his plate now, with Johnny, and I know that he's having nightmares again, worse than they've been lately." Sam took a drink of his beer and watched Cas still staring at his. "There also isn't anything Dean can do about this problem. Not without doing something supremely stupid. And that's too much of his M.O. for him  _not_  to do something stupid when he finds out."

Cas took a drink, and Sam realized as the angel's face twitched just momentarily into a grimace that he probably hadn't been lying about not liking beer. Sam couldn't tell, though, what it meant that the angel had finally taken a swig. Was it out of relief, or to calm nerves, or just a mimicry of Sam's actions.

"What is it that you believe I can help with more that your brother?" Cas finally asked after a moment or two of silence.

"It's my... wall, I guess is what Dean's been calling it." Sam saw Cas's eyes widen; it was clear he had the angel's full attention now if he hadn't had it already. "I know things, like that you and Dean share a 'more profound bond,' which means you like him more than me. I also know that Lucifer prefers mental scarring to physical, but he'll take physical if it leads to mental."

Cas's eyes widened, and despite the lack of change elsewhere in his demeanor, the angel looked genuinely sympathetic. His friend, it seemed, felt sorry for him.

"I don't remember specifics... yet, and I don't want to." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "But I don't feel like I'm going to be given much of a choice in the matter." He watched Cas take another drink of beer. He was fairly sure that, this time, it was for nerves.

"I know that I threatened... That I implied to Dean when I knocked you unconscious that I had broken down the wall, but I swear I never touched it." Earnest eyes met Sam's, and the usually closed-off angel was suddenly very easy to read. The guilt coming off of Cas was palpable.

"I know that you didn't. And Death told Dean this wasn't a sure thing." Sam sighed and took a gulp of beer. "What I was hoping for was that you might be able to help."

"I could patch it," the angel said, his narrow fingers moving the bottle around in circles on the tabletop. "But it will not hold better than Death's work. Quite the contrary, actually."

"Could it buy me time? Maybe allow me to deal with the memories in a trickle rather than a flood?"

"It might," the angel said, "but only for so long. And that is if I don't make things worse." He drained the rest of his beer quickly. "If we do this, however, I wish to try to help you with the memories you unlock, as well. Leaving you to cope with them alone could have long-lasting effects."

"Like an 'I love myself' jacket?"

"I don't understand that reference," Cas said.

"A straight jacket?" Sam asked, wrapping his arms around himself. All he got in response was a tilt of the head. "It would make me insane."

"Ah," Cas said, and in that single syllable, it was clear the angel wished Sam had just started with the clear explanation.

"Still, I appreciate the help."

Cas nodded, then stood and went to the refrigerator for another beer. He paused a moment, then got two more. Sam knew the conversation had made him uncomfortable, but had hadn't realized it was that bad. The angel set one beer in front of Sam, another in front of himself, and left the third sitting halfway between them.

Cas took a very large gulp of the beer, then looked at the hunter with seriousness etched across his features, even more so than usual. "You have to accept my presence in your mind completely. You will want to reject me naturally. I would be a foreign agent in anyone's mind, but in yours..."

Sam just loved that even now the demonic blood donation he'd received as an infant was still taunting him with reminders. "If you can help even a little, Cas, you won't find any resistance from me."

Sam could hear movement upstairs, and he realized just who that third beer had been for. The angel really did have a disturbing sixth sense when it came to Dean.

#

_"No knife, no Colt? What's a pretty little hunter to do?"_

_"Funny enough, I do have the exorcism memorized." Dean watched the mocha-skinned woman shift her weight from one food to the other within the devil's trap._

_"You are free to use it if you want," she said, "but I get the feeling you want answers about how I managed to steal this nifty little talisman from you without you even noticing." She let the leather pouch swing around her finger once for good measure. "And how I knew each and every one of your simple little buttons."_

_She was right, of course, but Dean wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. "If you use the exorcism right, I promise you, you'll have another opportunity to try to question me. Because the moment I get out of hell, I'll be scrambling my way back out. And then I'll kill Sam in front of you and give you a long, slow death."_

_Dean kept his anger in check at the mere mention that she would hurt his brother and instead aimed for something of a nonchalant air. "So what is it about Sam and me that has your panties in a bunch? Were you rooting for Lucy? Or maybe his kingship isn't giving you a good quarterly review? Or were you counting on him becoming all-powerful and getting some upward mobility?"_

_The demon laughed. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"_

_"Am I supposed to ?"_

_"Really, Sweetie? You don't remember me?" The woman gave an exaggerated pout. "I usually leave a better impression on men. And I thought we had something special, Dean."_

_"Look, my friend Cas might have a thing for making out with demons, but I sort of prefer eyes that come in natural colors."_

_The demon laughed and stretched her arms above her head. "I wasn't too fond of them, either. That's why I made a second deal with the new king of hell that if I did a little favor for him, I wouldn't be tortured by any demons. Funny thing, that." She looked at Dean levelly, and even though he wanted desperately to stop it, Dean could feel all the blood leaving his face. "Bastard and the others all knew they had a ringer coming in. I thought I'd made the deal of a lifetime, but all I had to do was wait until you broke."_

_She waved her hand absently as though to dismiss any argument Dean might be prepared to make, though he was too speechless to think of one. "Oh, there were plenty of humans who took up the knife, but they weren't human for long before they started to change into something else. You were unique, Dean. You always were. Ten years as a torturing bastard down there, and you still had a very human soul. Some might say that makes you better than the others, but I think it makes you much, much worse."_

_Dean swallowed and struggled to keep any reaction off his face. "For thirty years, I was able to wait, you know," she said. "And I thought I'd worked the system, then you broke and they needed someone to put on the rack in your place. I suppose they wanted our first times to be special."_

_She smiled at him and there was something so familiar about that smile. "I guess you could say, in my own little way, I helped you break the first seal."_

_"Regna terrae, cantate Deo..."_

_The demon winced as the exorcism ritual took effect. "I was on your rack more than anyone else, and you don't remember me. Quickest convert to high raking demon, too. Apparently, my anger at you fueled my rise."_

_"Psallite Domino qui fertis super caelum..."_

_"After you left, you know, they just let any new torturer convert go at me. But really, it's always your first that's the most special."_

_"Caeli ad Orientum..."_

_"It's a lot like sex in that." She got a very excited look in her eyes and the smile broadened. "Maybe when this is over we should have angry sex."_

_"Ecce... Ecce..." Oh God._

_"And look at that little lightbulb turning on. Poor thing. Doesn't get used often, does it?"_

Dean sat up in bed and tried to control his heartrate. He was breathing heavily, and his first instinct was to reach out for the nightstand and the booze he typically kept there. But he wasn't in a hotel. He was in Bobby's newly babyproofed house. There was no liquor on the bedside table. The angels almost certainly wouldn't have included a bottle of Jack to get him through the night

He'd have to go downstairs, then. Dean stood and tried not to stagger as he was still a bit bleary eyed and heavy from sleep and that God awful memory that had been haunting him nightly.

He scratched at his chest absentmindedly and made his way to the room across from his own. Johnny was sound asleep in his crib, and Dean tried to be happy that his son could sleep on his own, instead of missing the baby's presence beside him at night. Sleep without booze had been nice while it lasted.

Reaching over the bars of the crib so he could run the side of his finger against a soft cheek, Dean watched as his son's lips quirked upwards as the finger moved nearer that corner of his mouth. It was surprising to the hunter that it didn't matter in the slightest that Johnny didn't share an ounce of DNA with him. Every so often he wished that the kids green eyes were more like his own or that the freckles this kid was bound to get-because he was at least part ginger, with his fair skin and reddish blond hair-would look more like Dean's. But those thoughts faded quickly.

And damned if he didn't love this kid so much already that it made his chest fucking  _hurt_.

It brought back memories of being three and panicking his father half to death. His mom had said the same thing about Dean, trying to reassure him that his place wouldn't be usurped by his little brother. Though Dean couldn't recall being anything but excited by the prospect of getting a new brother, he guessed all parents worried about the older children getting jealous.

Dean, though, had taken things the wrong way and used the second speed dial button on the phone-number one was 911-to call his dad and tell him that "Mommy's heart hurts." His dad had freaked, come home, and then laughed about the trauma Dean had just put him through once he was informed of the source of Dean's misunderstanding. That was at a time before there was such an undercurrent of fear that John Winchester was permanently prevented from relaxing and just letting something go, let alone laughing about it.

He supposed he understood them both a little bit better. He finally got some of the things his mother said about loving him and Sammy, and his dad? Yeah, he understood that crazy, protective man completely.

Even though it had been Bela or someone doing a good impersonation of her, if Dean had known then that just a few months later he'd have a son to worry about, he'd have done more than just exorcising her back to hell. She had more than enough reason to want him dead, to want him to suffer, and he deserved it, but if she went through Sam or Johnny to do it, he'd make her wish she was back on that rack under his scalpel. He might not have pratcied torture, but that didn't mean his mind didn't consider it sometimes, devise new ways to perform what had been his craft in hell the way it used to imagine how he could retune the Impala or how he could develop a better weapon against ghosts.

And those easy thoughts about torture made him wonder more and more each day just how badly he was going to mess this poor kid up. His only consolation was the reminder of Castiel's assurances and know that the angel would make sure he didn't fuck Johnny up, along with keeping him safer than any other hunter could hope for his or her son.

Dean reluctantly left the nursery. He considered taking Johnny out of the bed and moving him into the bed beside him, because for whatever reason, he slept better with his son at his side. He didn't want to disturb the kid's sleep, or give him some kind of weird complex as he got older because Daddy had separation issues, or whatever the psychological mumbo jumbo was.

He walked down the hallway and stairs, debating whether he should just go for Bobby's rotgut or a beer. It was after 3 a.m. and Johnny would be up at about 7. The kid was like clockwork. Beer wouldn't do much for Dean's nerves, but at least in four hours when his son rallied, Dean wouldn't stink like a bar.

He was surprised to find the pocket doors to the kitchen shut, and naturally, he didn't hesitate to open them. He hadn't been exactly quiet when he'd been moving around downstairs, so whoever was on the other side almost certainly knew he was there. Maybe if Sam finally got Emma to visit, he'd do them the courtesy of knocking if it was somewhere like a bedroom. But with it being just the four of them and Johnny, well, privacy wasn't likely. Not in the kitchen, at least.

He blinked when he saw his brother sharing a beer with his friend- _their_  friend.

"Didn't expect to see you two up," he said, then quickly corrected himself. "I mean, you up," he said, nodding at Sam. "And you actually here."

"I saw my brothers only this afternoon," Cas said. "It didn't seem pressing that I return to heaven for an update this evening."

The angel picked up an unopened bottle and extended it to Dean. The hunter happily took it and the seat next to his friend.

"You do not look well," Cas said, and Dean hoped that if there ever was a time that his friend stayed out of his head, it was now.

"Tell me something I don't know," he said, twisting open the beer. He glanced over at Cas to see a fairly odd expression on his face. Dean might have labeled it slightly panicked, except there was no real reason for panic, slight or otherwise.

"Such as?"

"Dude, it's a saying. Means you don't have to tell me I look like shit. I know it. I'm going on about two hours of sleep." He glanced at Sam, who didn't look much better. "So why are you awake?"

"Couldn't sleep," Sam said. "What about you?" Dean didn't buy that his brother just couldn't sleep, but to call him out on that would mean getting called out himself, and there was no way he was going to talk about it. Besides, it looked like Sam had been talking to Cas, maybe about whatever the problem was. As he took a drink of his beer, he decided that was a good thing.

And if some petty inner two-year-old was jealous of both of them? He could just deal with it.


	20. In the Mind's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas helps Sam reinforce his wall.

_A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions."_

_Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. American judge._

"So, how does this Vulcan mild-meld work?" Sam asked the angel, who tilted his head to the side and looked at him strangely.

"'Mind meld?'" Cas said, pronouncing each of the two words as though they were completely foreign to him because they very obviously had no meaning to him together. Sam just smiled. Of course he had no idea what the phrase meant. Dean had only introduced Cas to Star Trek a couple of weeks ago, and the episodes had been out of order and piecemeal thanks to a "best of" marathon while they'd been on a hunt.

"Spock. Star Trek." Cas's eyebrows twitched slightly and he nodded. Sam took that to mean he vaguely knew what he was talking about. He couldn't read the angel as well as his brother, but he'd been his friend long enough to have at least picked up a few things. "He can link minds with other people." The fact that it was Cas he'd been referring to as having this ability made the reference seem all the more appropriate.

"An astute analogy," Cas said. Sam was wondering if maybe Data was a closer comparison, but he'd personally only seen pieces of the first two seasons of Next Generation-enough to at least give a knowing nod to Dean when he adamantly stated the show got much more awesome after Riker grew his beard-and the few odd episodes when Dean would watch, and Cas hadn't seen any of them. It was better to stick with Spock. Spock they both knew.

"You have to let me in your mind, first of all. And that isn't nearly as simple as it sounds." There was very little difference in the inflection in the angel's voice, but the slight change was there all the same. Sam knew well enough to realize that was probably a bad thing for him.

"It never is," Sam said as he sat at the kitchen table opposite the angel.

"It may require me to make physical contact," Cas said in a voice that sounded more like he was telling Sam he was going to have to stab him with a needle rather than just touch him. Sam just raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was missing something to the physical contact thing. "Your brother reacts... violently to unexpected contact."

"Yeah," Sam said, "he's always been like that."

"I was unsure," Cas said. "My experience with your brother came after it would have been understandable for him to reject sudden contact." That statement went tucked away for later contemplation. It was fairly obvious that Cas knew, either because he was able to enter Dean's mind more easily or because he witnessed the older hunter during his time in hell. Sam was certain that it didn't come from Dean actually talking to Cas about his troubles or his memories. "Given that your memories of your own time there are returning, it didn't seem implausible that you would react likewise, if that was the source of Dean's unease."

And that statement made Sam wonder, not for the first time, just what tortures he probably experienced, himself, while he was in the Cage. He didn't doubt that Lucifer could be creative. He still remembered having the former archangel in his skull, and he had gotten enough of a glimpse of the angel's thought processes to know that being on the other end of them was probably a very bad thing.

Cas placed his hand at Sam's bare forearm. "I think this should suffice." Having the angel touching him felt… weird. He had very little contact with Cas, beyond accidentally bumping one another or the occasional arm thrown one another in celebration. This was out of the norm. Cas was a good friend, family even, but their interactions had a set the tone and length of time for any touching between them, and this was crossing over all kinds of lines.

_Yeah. This is about as strange as if Dean suddenly reached over in the Impala to hold my hand. Cas is firmly in the brother category._

"This will probably go easier if you close your eyes." Sam obeyed. "Let's focus on the wall, first. I'm no expert at this, but I think that you should be able to make it appear as a physical wall in your mind."

As Sam tried to do as instructed, he felt something else, something foreign and itchy that made him want to squirm away. He was vaguely reminded of being eight years old and accidentally getting into some poison sumac when his dad had been on a hunt in Atlanta. He had turned out to be highly allergic to the stuff, more so than the normal red, itchy rash he got with either poison oak or ivy. The sumac rash had spread everywhere, including his face. It had made Dean, ever the inconsistent caregiver, fuss over him like a worried mother hen while at the same time calling him the Elephant Man or saying he looked like Rocky from Mask. Sam never did find out when twelve-year-old Dean had had the time to watch a movie with Cher, but at eight he had been too uncomfortable, covered in pink lotion, and seriously pissy with his asshole older brother to bother to ask.

"God..." he groaned. "What is that?"

"That is me. Focusing on the wall that will make it easier for me to come in."

Sam tried, though it wasn't easy to imagine a giant brick wall when it felt like he had poison sumac in the brain. He nearly had the wall visualized when he felt a not entirely welcomed presence at his side. He knew it was Cas, trenchcoat and all, but having him in his head made Sam want to scream. It felt as though even his cells and molecules were resisting the angel. And in a way, he supposed they were. After all, to demon blood, what could be more of a foreign antibody than an angel?

Ï can see some of the weak spots already, but it is probably best if we don't try to patch them up until we find out which of your memories should be forced back through." Sam nodded because he didn't trust himself to speak. They hadn't even gotten to the difficult part yet. All he had to deal with was Cas's irritating presence and the wall, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't scream inside his own head if he let his vocal chords-real or imagined-free. "You need to focus on the memories that have slipped through. Your instincts will probably tell you to try to get rid of me instead."

Sam tried. He really did, but in the end, he imagined scratching that obnoxious itch in his head. That was all it took for him to find relief. And for Cas to be gone.

He sighed as he opened his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You lasted much longer than I thought."

Sam let out a faint chuckle. "You expected me to fail?

"As with everything with you and your brother, I expect you may fail, but I also have faith that isn't wholly unfounded that you will succeed." Cas folded his hands on the tabletop. "This was a modest success."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, then pushed the few strands behind his ears. "It's different with Dean, though, isn't it?" He realized his question was somewhat vague. "The mind thing, not the faith." Though they were probably very different, as well.

The angel closed his eyes as though he didn't want to give something away. "I can fall into Dean's mind as though I were diving into a pool of water. I do my best not to unless it is an emergency because he likes it so little. I have only intruded upon his dreams on a few rare occasions." There was a pause then, as though he was about to relay a secret to the younger Winchester. "Though I was shocked at how real they felt."

"Dreams usually do," Sam said. "But you don't really have a frame of reference."

"I was falling for a whole year, Sam," Cas said quite seriously. "My Grace was fading away slowly. I had bug bites, I slept and I dreamed. I can say with some authority that this is different."

Sam was always amazed, this time no less than any other, that Castiel's expression could be so unchanging, and yet he could sound so full of awe that if he was a normal human being, he would be wide-eyed with wonderment. "That profound bond a little more than just shared experiences, isn't it?"

He got no response from the angel, other than a change of the subject.

"Now that you know what to expect," Cas said, "would you care to try again?"

#

"Son of a bitch won't answer the phone," Sam watched himself say. He was grateful that Cas had made him a bystander rather than an active participant in his memories. He felt bad enough that he'd called his friend that name even if it hadn't technically been him, or at least all of him—the situation was complicated even in his own head.

"Well, let's give it a shot." Dean began his prayer, and almost in unison both Sam and the past version of himself called his brother an idiot.

"You didn't come because you knew I was soulless and you'd have to explain," Sam said, more so than asked the angel standing to his right and  _still_  making him itch. Could he even get Calamine lotion for inside his head?

"That is largely the reason,"Cas said. "I was also otherwise occupied much of that year, you'll remember." There was a tone of regret in Cas's voice that Sam didn't think the angel was capable of putting on for show.

"Hello?" Sam heard the other him say.

"Yes," Other Cas replied.

"Hello? Hello." Sam had never actually done his impersonation of Cas in front of the angel, or so he had thought. He was vaguely ashamed that he  _had_  an impersonation of Cas in his repertoire, not that they didn't all imitate him from time to time, but Sam, like the others, only did it in private. Still, neither Cas looked insulted; in fact, Sam was now trying not to laugh at the other Cas's confusion and watched as the memory played out.

"It seems like soulless me was evil  _and_  an ass."

"I'm not sure that evil is the most appropriate word. I'd opt for selfish or self-serving. Your soulless self wouldn't have gone on a killing spree just for the sake of it. But if someone else got in the way of a goal or put your—his life at risk, you spared that person no concern. It was a very... angelic way of looking at the world."

"Unless the angel is you," Sam said as the memory started to fade.

"I'm no different from them. My goal merely changed." Sam knew how he would define what that changed goal was, but he wondered if Cas would be so honest. Still, he was ever the professional and continued on with clearing Sam's mind. "I believe that memory can stay outside the wall, but there is another that will require your help to shove back behind the wall. This will not be easy, and You must fight the memory. Not my presence."

#

"Poor little Sammy got left behind," Lucifer taunted. Though Sam was still a witness to this portion of his memory, he was very clearly experiencing all of the pain that the other version of himself had suffered. When Castiel had attempted to pull his friend out, Sam had cried out like he'd been burned. "Little angel took your body but left your soul."

Lucifer circled around Sam looking like that man Nick as Michael sat in the back of the room that seemed both confining and going on forever. He was still in Adam's body, but it was obvious that the body was deteriorating. "I wonder how long it will take them to notice that Sammy's not the same Sammy he used to be. Though I love your body and I fully plan to take it back when we get topside, it is nice not to be confined to one anymore." Nick's visage began to shift. "It lets me do things like this."

In the place of the man who had first said "yes" to the devil stood Jessica Moore. Though it was obvious that both versions of Sam recognized her instantly, it took a moment for Castiel to place the face of the woman with the ones he had seen in photos. Lucifer placed hand on Sam's arm only to make it turn blue then nearly black. Both Sams cried out in pain and reached for the spot that was slowly spreading from Lucifer's palm. "Look at that, a soul  _can_  get frostbite."

Michael didn't so much as bat an eye, which Castiel was certain irritated the younger of the two. He looked to be meditating, probably maintaining his reserves. "So, big brother, what do you think is happening up there? Can a body even walk around without its soul?"

"Of course, and a soulless body would probably be more willing to give permission, though you technically have permission already. I was able to get Adam to agree by forcing his soul out of this body and back to heaven."

Sam was nursing the arm that Lucifer had nearly frozen off, and the Sam remembering was doing the same, but Castiel could see no sign of actual injury to him. The angel tried once again to pull his friend out of his memory. "You spent all this time, all this planning for a battle royale between the two of you, and Michael, heaven's warrior, is biding his time?"

"This isn't where or how the battle is supposed to take place," Michael said. "And I still owe your brother a visit. Oh, I'm going to use him until his body, brain and soul are melted to nothing."

"Big words for the angel who's stuck in a cell," Sam said, sounding almost reminiscent of Dean. In fact, if Dean had been there, he probably would have patted his brother on the back. Before throwing himself in the path of danger, that is. He still would do nearly anything to save Sam

Michael's borrowed eyes opened and with a flick of the wrist, he twisted Sam's arm behind his back with a bone crunching snap. Both Sams cried out in pain, and Castiel couldn't be sure that when they returned to the waking world that Sam's arm wouldn't be snapped in half there as well. All Cas could do was be grateful that, if it was, it was at least a wound he could heal easily.

"Sam," Cas said loudly, hoping to cut through the effect the memory was having on the younger Winchester. The soulless memory had seemed to have no impact upon him, though Castiel couldn't be sure whether that was because Sam had been uninjured in that memory and overall less traumatic or because there was something different about these times in the Cage.

The tall hunter screamed again as Michael sent the other version of himself sailing through the Cage, hurling him into the nearest wall, which suddenly seemed much closer than it had just moments before. Castiel wasn't certain whether or not he should pull the man out of his memory or not. Sam hadn't yet asked for it, but the angel wasn't entirely sure if the hunter would be cognizant enough to actually ask to be let out of the horrible experience.

"Very impressive, big brother," Lucifer complimented Michael from inside Jess' body. "You know, if you decide to be a more active participant, this could be very fun." He got no further acknowledgment from Michael, who had gone back to meditating and attempting to preserve Adam's body for as long as he could.

The decision was taken out of the angel's hands when he realized that in the darker corners of this memory were little threads, little links to others, and while he didn't peer too long at them, he could tell that the torture, the things that were done to Sam by Castiel's oldest brothers—more so Lucifer than Michael—were unforgivable and might have been unimaginable if Castiel hadn't expected the very worst from Lucifer. Something was unusual about Sam's memories of the pit, and the angel knew that the only way he could allow Sam to remember is if the angel found a way to sever the tendrils that intertwined that year in the Cage, a year that Castiel knew well enough had likely been far longer in reality. Otherwise, remembering just one small piece would slowly pull all of the others out, and no one was ready for Sam to know all the details of what was done to him, body and soul, least of all Sam, himself.

"Sam!" Castiel shouted, placing his hands on either of Sam's shoulders and ignoring the pain it obviously caused him. It turned out that the agony he had been trying to avoid causing that was able to bring Sam back to the present, so to speak, and separate from this horrible memory. Finally, hazel eyes focused on the angel's and Castiel knew his friend was with him. "Sam, I need your help to push this back behind the wall."

Sam nodded, lips tight in the way Dean's usually were after an especially tough night of drinking when he was trying to prevent himself from vomiting. Castiel knew that sometimes extreme pain could cause such a reaction, and he didn't push for a verbal answer. "Try to imagine the memory as something physical, something that can be shoved through a whole in the brick wall."

It took some time and a great deal of struggling on Sam's part before they were suddenly faced with a bag of some sort. The two quickly ran to pick up the bag, which flopped and shifted as the item inside, perhaps seeds or rice, perhaps even bugs, made it difficult to sufficiently grasp and push. Each shove of the palm of their hand gave way in the bag's stuffing. They would push again and again and again and seem to get nowhere.

Until, finally, it shifted and shimmied to the point that it finally fit through the gaps in the bricks and Castiel and Sam were able to patch up the wall, though it was visibly not as strong as what Death had built. When it was all done, a tired-looking hunter placed his hands on his knees and breathed heavily from the effort. His head tilted up after a moment or two and he smiled at Castiel.

"Thank you," he said, looking genuinely grateful. "And please don't be insulted, but you're making me want to scratch like crazy. Would you mind getting out of my head?"

The angel shook his head. "I am not insulted at all." With that, he left.

#

Eyes open in the real world for the first time that night, Castiel gave Sam a concerned look. "How are you?" He began scanning the man for any signs of injury that may have shown themselves int he real world. Considering what had been done to him in the memory, it only made sense that they might show themselves in reality in one form or another.

"Sore," Sam said, honestly. Castiel noticed he was favoring the arm that Lucifer had first frostbitten and Michael had later broken. "Stunned. But I don't know why. I'm going to take a guess that's for the best and it's because what we did worked."

The angel nodded. "It hasn't fixed the problem. Merely bought us time."

Sam gave him a weary smile in return. "Time is a good thing."

#

Dean saw the nearby clock reading 4 a.m. That made for just over three hours of sleep, which was probably a new record for him, lately. He rubbed weary eyes and slid out from between the covers of his bed. He stood and yawned, wishing he'd be able to just settle back into that comfortable bed, but really, he knew he should just be grateful for the few hours he managed to get.

_"You know, it was supposed to be your father. He was supposed to bring it on. But in the end, it was you."_

Dean wanted to scream at his brain. It was bad enough he couldn't escape what he'd done in his dreams, but shouldn't he be given a little respite in the waking world? He'd supposedly been forgiven by God, so why couldn't he manage to just forgive himself?

_"Oh, every night, the same offer, remember? Same as your father. And finally you said 'Sign me up.' Oh, the first time you picked up my razor. The first time you sliced into that weeping bitch, that was the first seal."_

Even then, Dean hadn't remembered, hadn't wanted to remember who that woman on the rack had been, how she had begged him not to do this to her. He tried not to remember that he'd recognized her and after hesitation that may have lasted an hour, maybe a year, he finally cut into her.

"Hey, Cas," Dean heard Sam's voice whisper in the hallway, "thanks again."

Dean watched as his brother and the angel walked through the hallway, Sam's arm draped over Cas's shoulders. Whatever it was that had the two of them acting so chummy all of a sudden had their all of their attention. By now one or both of them would have been asking Dean about his sleepless nights, about the fact that Dean was 99 percent sure he wasn't quiet during the worst of his nightmares. Neither asked because neither noticed, and even though Dean knew he wouldn't have given them an answer, he couldn't help but feel marginalized by the entire situation.

And the fact that he was feeling this stupid, petty hurt at being ignored made Dean feel mad at himself along with the two now making their way down the hall, one to his bedroom and the other to Johnny's.


	21. A Little More Conversation, A Little Less Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is can be a little petty when he feels like he's being left out.

_"I distrust a close-mouthed man. He generally picks the wrong time to talk and says the wrong things."_

_Dashiell Hammet, The Maltese Falcon_

Bobby found two things amazing: 1) Sam and Dean  _still_  thought they could hide things from him and 2) He was getting good enough at reading Cas to know something was up with him. He considered confronting the idjits, but it seemed pointless. Dean wouldn't respond well to being backed into a corner. He'd hiss, he'd lash out, and he'd tell absolutely nothing. Bobby could wait him out. Sam he could corner and get information out of if it came to it, but the younger brother seemed to have turned to Cas for help, which meant the problem was probably over Bobby's pay grade.

And, whatever it was, it would come out soon enough. Eventually, Dean was going to get tired of giving them the hairy eyeball and just ask the two what was up. Dean had never been that great with sharing the really important things, from the Impala to his dad's jacket. It was worse with Sam and-now, it seemed-the angel. Dean had always had to share Bobby and his dad with Sam so that "Mine! Mine! Mine!" possessiveness almost never surfaced.

But Dean hated sharing his brother or his angel, even with one another, and even though he didn't seem to be intentionally doing it, he was getting even by dominating Johnny's time.

The boy wasn't complaining, well not much. He relished the time outside, slathered in sunscreen, as he played on the miniature playground that Joshua had built in front of Bobby's house. Still, the baby had grown to expect attention from Cas and even some from Sam, so when the boy would reach for either of the two, Dean would do his best to distract him with something shiny. Often, it came in the form of Johnny reaching up for Cas and Dean handing the child a stuffed toy, a ball, or giving him a good toss in the air and a tickle to distract him.

Sam noticed, but he seemed to be adjusting to it. he'd seen Dean in this mode before, with the Impala, with weapons. He'd even been the subject of it. It was fairly obvious that he felt this would pass because he seemed to assume the possessiveness was about Johnny.

The one who didn't understand and who looked like a kicked puppy was Castiel. Even now, as he stood out in the warm May weather in his usual uniform, he was watching Dean and Johnny like a kid would if he'd just been told the family pet was going to have stay behind in the new move. He looked downright heartbroken.

Cas seemed to have given up on being included in Dean's play with the boy and had retreated to the porch beside Bobby. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke up, but never took his eyes off the man and his son on the toddler-sized slide. "I am glad to see that Dean is becoming so accustomed to fatherhood. I knew he was a natural."

"So why don't you look glad?" Bobby asked, trying not to sound accusatory, because he knew the problem here rested with Dean, not the angel. Cas said nothing. He just looked to his feet and frowned as though they had done something to offend him. "Look, Cas, Dean can be a possessive little bastard sometimes. It's an annoying trait, but it fades after a while. Look at the way he is with his car. It's much worse when it's people he cares about."

He got an understanding nod in return, but nothing more. Bobby didn't feel like what he had said had actually sunk in, but before he could clarify, he was interrupted by the sound of a car coming up his driveway. Bobby strained from his front porch to see the car in question, but he could see nothing. Cas was doing the same beside him, as was Dean from his spot in the yard.

"It is the sheriff," Cas said loud enough for both Bobby and Dean to hear. The older hunter tried to pretend that he didn't feel just a little bit like Sam right now. (The giant was in the house talking to Emma. If it weren't so vomit-inducingly sweet, Bobby would have said the whole thing was kinda cute.)

Bobby realized he wasn't much better than the younger hunter when he caught himself checking to see how he looked in the front windows. He frowned at his reflection for primping and turned around to see the cruiser pulling up his driveway. When it got close enough, he could make out Jody's surprised expression.

Considering she'd only ever seen his house when it was a complete mess, the startling transformation was bound to knock her for a loop.

Bobby half-noticed Cas and Dean-with Johnny in his arms-approaching. His focus was mostly on Jody, who was getting out of her car.

"Bobby Singer, is this something I should be concerned about?" she asked.

"Not necessarily."

"What does that mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. He should really find her less attractive when she was suspicious of him, but if anything, he found the slight bit of paranoia endearing. And a turn-on, but that was neither here nor there.

"Well, the house had to get more presentable for my, uh, grandson." He'd used the word just to get a reaction out of her. Not for the warm and fuzzies it caused in his chest, which was just a nice bonus. He tried his very best to convince himself of that.

"Your... grandson?" Jody asked, looking incredibly confused.

"For all intents and purposes." He gestured behind the sheriff to Dean. "You remember Dean. And this is Cas." He couldn't really have a heart-to-heart talk with the idiots at the moment. For once he was going to be a little selfish and enjoy the fact that he was getting a visit from the sheriff. But, he could at least force the two idjits into having the talk themselves. "This is their kid, Johnny."

"Oh," Jody said, looking more than a little confused. "I never realized."

Almost simultaneously, Dean tried to tell her that it wasn't like that and Cas corrected that Johnny was Dean's son. "It's actually a really long story," he said. "Why don't I explain it over a little coffee? You know, the whole place has been redone. You really should come in and see what Cas's family did."

Dean and Cas started to head inside behind him, but Bobby shot them both a look that clearly told them to stay the hell where they were. With any luck, it also told them to work out their damned issues. The older hunter could only take so much petty hurt from a grown man and an ancient angel before he snapped. For now, he was going to talk to the sheriff on his own.

#

"And I thought Sam was bad, trying to pass us off as a couple," Dean said. "Never thought Bobby would turn traitor."

Cas only nodded as Dean made his way over to the porch swing with Johnny still at his hip. His son, though, had other plans. His arms were in the air and his hand was grasping at nothing, trying to signal that he wanted the angel's attention. For the first time Dean could recall since Cas had imposed fatherhood upon him, his friend didn't immediately scoop Johnny into his arms. He actually looked torn about what to do.

"Dude, just have a seat," Dean said, his voice sounding a little bitter, even to his own ears. He couldn't get hurt that for once in their weird-ass relationship, Cas was actually hesitating closing that whole personal space bubble. It sort of ruined his efforts this far. He'd managed, he thought, fairly well not to react when Sam and Cas would talk about something in private, something they obviously didn't want Dean to hear. So why did Cas look like he was the one who was being cut out?

The angel gingerly sat in the empty space on the swing, but he looked like he would be ready to fly away at any moment. Johnny was still reaching for him, and Dean was quick to shift his son over to the angel. Cas looked so surprised, so ... happy at what had become a routine act for them that the hunter was now very confused.

He watched as Cas and his son hugged like they hadn't seen one another in days. Johnny burrowed his nose in the angel's trench coat and took a breath so deep that Dean could watch his back move with the effort. The angel seemed to have even more awkwardness-and despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, Cas had shown some nearly every time he held or patted or offered comfort to Johnny-as he held him now. "Why didn't you take him when he reached for you?"

"I was waiting for you to distract him with something else."

Dean gave Cas his very best "what the hell" face. "I thought you wanted to be around for Johnny."

"I do, as long as it was what you want for him. You seemed to wish for me to keep my distance, and I was respecting that." Dean would have called bullshit at his friend's comment, except for the fact that Johnny genuinely looked like he hadn't been held by Cas in a very long time. "Bobby pointed out that you are not fond of sharing people you care about unless you know you must."

The angel actually looked pained, like he thought Dean was going to separate him from Johnny.

Leave it to the meddling old hunter to say something to Cas in an effort to make things better, but only to make them worse. Of course, now that he thought back on his own behavior the last week, he hadn't helped matters either. "Cas, I didn't even realize I was keeping Johnny from you. Hell, if he didn't look like he hadn't seen you in a week, I wouldn't have believed I was doing it."

Dean sighed and kicked his feet off the ground, sending the swing moving unevenly. "Look, I am a little pissed at you right now. And with Sammy. And I guess I've been hogging Johnny because of that."

The angel attempted to even out the wobbly swing with a movement of his own, and it very nearly worked. "You were angry with me?"

"You and Sam, keeping secrets or whatever."

Cas paused a moment and let out a soft "Oh." Johnny pulled back from the embrace, finally, and grinned up at the angel. It was an overexaggerated smile, one of the faces that he'd been learning over the last few weeks, along with sticking his tongue out and jutting out his bottom lip. It was much funnier when, as now, the angel attempted to return the overly broad grin. Cas would stretch his lips tight like he was the dentist's example in a toothpaste commercial, as they explain how it fights plaque and gingivitis. It always made Johnny break down in laughter, and usually earned a snort or two from Dean; it did today.

"I'm not used to Sam having a problem that he can't come to me about it, not one that means anything good for me. And you've never had something to say to Sam that you couldn't to me. So I'm kind of wondering what the hell is up." The angel allowed Johnny to stand on on his knees as Cas and Dean slowly found their rhythm on the swing. They kept it slow so that the baby didn't lose his still unsteady balance. "You know that Sam has remembered some of his soulless period," he said. "He wished to understand the wall in his mind and how it was allowing them to slip through. I told him that I would help as much as I could."

"So it was a geek-out-slash-therapy session?" Dean asked incredulously. He still thought it sounded like something he should know, but knowing those two and how technical and metaphysical they could get, their actual conversation probably would have bored him to tears.

"Something along that line," Cas said.

Before he could stop himself as he watched the angel hold Johnny by his waist and the little boy brace himself using his arm and his hand on Cas's arms, Dean said, "So, you still like me better than Sammy?" He added a little smirk to defuse how stupid he felt even as the words were coming out of his mouth.

To his surprise, rather than responding something about their "profound" bond," Cas simply said, "Yes, I like you better."

#

The change in Dean was noticeable, and Castiel couldn't help but be confused that his behavior was based not on possessiveness regarding Johnny, but because he hadn't liked sharing Sam and, perhaps, Castiel. The desire for the angel to like him more than Sam had seemed clear when they had been swinging with the boy earlier, but Dean seemed much more relaxed--and it was rubbing off on the angel--now that they were were splitting some pizza with the sheriff as Dean tried to convince Johnny to eat some pureed sweet potatoes mixed with his cereal. "Don't make me eat this," he begged his son.

"It makes no difference to me what something tastes like. If he needs someone to sample, I would volunteer," Castiel , as the sheriff insisted he call her, was still staring at him with something akin to wonderment. Bobby had informed her that Castiel was an angel, which required some demonstrations on Castiel's part to get her to believe. Now, she seemed more in shock of the mundane little things he did, whether it was helping Dean adjust the high chair, picking up the pizza from the store, or changing a soiled diaper. Actually, that last task seemed the most shocking for the woman.

"Your funeral. But no making coffee faces," Dean preemptively chastised him. The angel could not help it if he found black coffee incredibly bitter and unpleasant, but he could certainly steel his expression for some sweet potatoes and rice Dean was suddenly holding a spoonful of the mixture in Castiel's face, his resolve wavered a bit. The concoction smelled considerably less pleasant now that it was under his nose. Yet, everyone's focus was on him, waiting for him to back down. It was the two sets of green eyes that made him all the more determined to eat the food without showing his displeasure. Johnny's were open and inquisitive, watching his every move so that he could later mimic it. Dean looked as though he had just issued a challenge. Castiel could resist neither.

Castiel mechanically opened his mouth for the food, which the hunter quickly spooned into his mouth. As the angel's lips moved around the small plastic spoon, Dean was looking smug. Honestly, though, it wasn't terrible. It was far from being what the angel would term "good food," but he had sampled worse. Still, he tried to smack his lips and smile as he ate it in an effort to mimic Dean when he was trying to convince Johnny two nights ago that pureed bananas and cereal was a delicious combination. Apparently, everyone else at the table found them as amusing as the toothy grin he often offered the baby. Even the sheriff was laughing at him, though she was trying to do so much more discreetly than the men at the the table were. Dean was, for his part, trying to hide his laugh behind the hand that held the spoon, but his son's infectious laugh was winning out. Even the angel found a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It didn't seem to matter that he had looked ridiculous and perhaps disingenuous when he had tried the food. The effort had done the trick, it seemed. Johnny was trying the mixture and wasn't turning his nose up at it.

"We'll get you on cheeseburgers yet," Dean said with a grin. "Now, open up for Daddy."

Castiel couldn't help but notice the way that Sam smiled when he heard Dean say that. For all that the angel had spent the last year trying to make up for the one previous, he had done at least one thing right. Without the quiet presence to occasionally voice support or disapproval-his personal Jiminy Cricket, Dean would say-he was acting on his own.

Even though this was a happy moment, or perhaps because it was, Castiel found himself thinking of Jimmy. He wondered at the man's experience of being a father, at how he must have felt and the best ways to raise a child. In his short time in Claire's mind, Castiel had to give credit to his vessel for being a good father. She was a surprisingly well adjusted child, given that her father had disappeared months before after claiming to have spoken with an angel.

Was this what parenthood was like? Was there something else that Dean needed to do?

It also made the angel feel all the more guilty for keeping his vessel as long as he had. Castiel had been able to see Johnny, had gotten to smile at him, make faces with him when Dean had been so demanding of his son's time. And yet the loss of contact had made something in his borrowed chest hurt. Castiel had kept Jimmy from seeing his family for years now, and the last year, it had been only for selfish reasons; he'd wanted to regain the hunters' trust.

"Not a bad idea, what do you think Cas?" Dean was asking him, but the angel had not been focused enough on the conversation to know what the "not bad idea" was.

"I am sorry. What was that? My mind was... elsewhere."

The sheriff smiled knowingly. He recalled something about the woman having been a parent, and there was something about the way she was looking at him now that seemed both understanding and open. She probably assumed his mind had been focused on Johnny, and this was her way of letting him know she understood. Though his thoughts had initially been on the boy, that was not entirely the truth of the matter by the time they had concluded.

Still, the friendly way she took to him, despite being aware he was not human, made him want to like her. All the more important was that the woman seemed to really care for Bobby. Though neither had admitted it to to the other, both Bobby and Jody, as she insisted that he call her, obviously had affectionate feelings for one another. She had a strong, kind soul she would be good for the hunter.

"I told Dean that he needed to get a photo of Johnny. If he was going to have to go hunting and sometimes be away from him, it might not be a bad idea to have something to tuck into his wallet."

Sam made a noise to let them know he meant to say something, but he needed to swallow the piece of food in his mouth first. "Even Dad carried around a photo of us in his wallet. You should do the same."

"You still have that ancient camera of yours, Bobby?" Dean asked.

"I'll do you one better," the older hunter said as he pushed back from the table to stand and walk over to his desk in the living room. He held up a small digital camera by the cord at its end. "Bought this thing when I needed to play an insurance adjuster in New Orleans back in February."

"I'll do the honors," Jody said. "So the whole family can get in the shot." She stood and walked over to Bobby and slowly snatched the camera from his grasp. Her fingers brushed his and lingered, and for just a moment, the older hunter looked a little awkward and even embarrassed at the touch. Castiel hoped they would soon act on their feelings for one another. He might have found the cherubs irritating more often than not, but the angel had been around humans long enough to realize that love was a very precious thing if a person was blessed with it.

"It's nice outside. Besides, the wallpaper in this house is all warded so much, it's hard to say what might happen if we use it as a backdrop," Dean said.

"It'd be entertaining to see you dispel demons with family photos," Sam said as Dean stood and began unhooking Johnny from his chair. Castiel hadn't realized just how long he'd been deep in thought about Jimmy until he saw that most of the pizzas were now gone. All that remained was the dessert pizza that had come for free with the others-Dean had called it "almost pie."

"I've seen family photos dispel things more mundane than demons," Bobby said as he handed over the camera to the sheriff.

Dean adjusted his grip on Johnny and then placed a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Come on, Cas. Family portrait time."

When it started exactly, Castiel wasn't sure, but he knew that the odd, warm sensation he felt when Dean included him in his family or when he would touch the angel as he did with family (Dean could be surprisingly tactile with those he was close to), wasn't going away. He had been surprised by Dean's declaration that they were like brothers, that they were family once, but he might have dismissed it all as ways of pacifying him when he had been attempting to break into Purgatory. The continued emphasis on their friendship and the angel's inclusion into the hunter fold, however, emphasized that his friend's words had been sincere.

Lately, though, his reaction to Dean's words had become more and more curious and further from his own understanding, and yet very familiar. In many ways, it reminded him of how it had felt to be part of his family in heaven, and it  _was_  identical when it was Sam or Bobby declaring their familial relationship. But there was an undercurrent with Dean that he simply did not understand, and it seemed to be getting worse, or stronger; he was still unsure this was necessarily a bad thing.

He glanced up at the hunter, who pulled his hand away and turned to look Johnny in the eyes as the boy's hand and arm moved to either side of Dean's face to give him a sloppy kiss somewhere to the side of his lips. The boy seemed to be picking up a few things in terms of affection from his interactions with his father and the other hunters.

Dean only laughed and waited until Johnny's attention was elsewhere to wipe the damp mark on his face. "Let's get out there before they decide to take the photo without the star of the show."

Castiel stood and followed his friend and the baby out of the room. Perhaps the worst of his thoughts concerning Jimmy were that if he managed to fix this problem, if he found him again, he would almost certainly owe it to his vessel to give him control of his body back and give him the chance to be with his family once again. And that would mean giving up all of this. Even if Castiel could find someone willing to host him, someone whose bloodline would accept the angel, that could take precious time, and it would deprive his new vessel of the life he was currently seeking to lead.

If Jimmy was gone and stayed gone, the angel could have this. He could spend the next few decades on earth with the hunters and Johnny. He could help to raise the boy and keep him safe. He could protect Dean, stay by his side. The horrors that the hunters faced each day might make that prospect frightening to some, but to the angel, it was idyllic. It made him useful.

He was still thinking of that future as the hunters gathered around him. He found himself surrounded by Winchesters, with Bobby standing to Sam's other side.

"Odd..." the sheriff said as she looked at the screen on the camera. "That would have been a great shot of you, but it looks like there is an odd shadow. I'll save it in case it's just the little screen, but I don't think it is."

Almost immediately, Castiel could feel his face heating up, completely against his will. His wings sometimes had a mind of their own, but he had never anticipated that they would not only move around his newfound family but actually appear even partly in this plane.

"Don't delete it when you take another one," Dean said. Thus far, he was thankfully unaware of the cause of the anomaly in the photo, and if the angel had any luck, the hunter would stay that way. "You'd be surprised what weird shadows can mean for us."

"No. I really wouldn't," Jody said with a dismissive laugh. Castiel supposed if there was a person who had at least a vague idea about what unusual occurrences could mean for the hunters, it was the sheriff.

The angel very nearly let the subject drop just at this, but he noticed Dean's posture. The hunter was waiting for the next attack, and it seemed only right that he at least let him know they were safe. He cleared his throat. It was an unnecessary action for the angel, but it served its actual purpose, since it got all three of the hunters' attention. "I don't think it will be a problem anymore."

Dean met his eyes and smirked. "Oh, we're definitely keeping that one, now," he said. Dean couldn't know that Castiel had been wrapping his right wing around him and Johnny. What Dean obviously  _did_  know was that the angel was embarrassed for being caught at something. The hunter seemed to relish the idea of embarrassing the angel, and the mischievous glint in Dean's eyes was telling of just how much he was and always did enjoy this.

The five-though Johnny was largely unaware-posed for their picture once again. "And make sure you don't look like you're getting ready to go to a funeral," Dean told him. Cas tried to smile on his own, he did, but it was really Johnny that did it, grinning up at him. Smiles came easier around the boy, and he'd learned how to wear them at all because of the man.

#

Sam was grateful that, for once, Dean was wearing  _that_  smile because he had dirt on someone who wasn't Sam, for once. Normally, that grin appeared whenever Dean realized he had something on Sam or he knew some juicy little tidbit that the younger brother didn't really want disseminated to the world, but this time, as Dean sat behind the computer screen and just smirked, it was all on Cas.

"Are you sure you want to print them off here?" Sam heard Jody say to Bobby from the rear of the room. "Most photo printers lose quality over time.

"Jody, as a police officer, you really don't want to know the kind of equipment I have here."

Sam laughed as he heard Dean happily chirp, "Print!" Cas was seated on the sofa, allowing Johnny to bounce between the angel's knees. The angel looked up at Dean with an expression that might have rivaled Puss in Boots, but the hunter wasn't going to be deterred. Sam could have told him as much. He'd used that same look on his older brother repeatedly over the years, and by now, Dean was fairly numb to it in non-life-threatening or self-sacrificing moments.

And Sam had been using it from the time he'd been a hell of a lot smaller and cuter than he was now. Cas didn't stand a chance.

The printer began whirring to life and Sam was quick to grab the photo but not touching the still-setting pigments. He looked at the odd refractions of light behind himself and Bobby in the image. For once, they weren't blinking or making a weird face. It was a shame this photo was not destined for the wall. Sam knew better than to think lightning would strike twice and they would have a good second photo only moments after this one had been taken.

But, it was no wonder that Dean was so amused by the photo he wanted it for himself. Those same odd refractions of light were behind Dean and Johnny as well, but they curved to the front and whatever they represented was actually casting a shadow over both father and son. Of course, it all centered around Castiel, which meant there was only one person who could be the source of the lights and shadow.

To the best of Sam's knowledge, Cas' wings weren't something private. The only reason that humans couldn't see them, so the angel claimed, was because they were in another plane of existence. Dean had apparently seen their shadow once before, and there had been no embarrassment then. That meant this wasn't the angelic equivalent of a nip slip. Most likely, knowing the angel, he was embarrassed because he had been caught at the moment he had lost momentary control of his wings as he posed for the shot.

Dean might never show this photo to anyone else, as long as that was what Cas wanted of him, but Sam had no doubt that it would become one of his brother's favorites for his own collection.

The printer was still going, making more copies of this photo and the other one, which was not as good for Sam, who looked like he was about to sneeze, but by far not his worst photo ever. Jody was behind him, trying not to look directly at any of the nearly professional equipment Bobby had for producing photos. She seemed determined to keep up the pretense of pretending not to notice that they had access to fairly realistic fake IDs, badges and other documentation. Her purposeful blindness was almost cute, and from the look on Bobby's face, he definitely thought so.

Sam was still waiting for some kind of snarky comment from his brother to Cas, but none came. He was interrupted by a phone call before any remarks about feathers or wings could escape his lips.

"Dude, who would be calling you that isn't in this room?" Sam asked his brother.

"Damned if I know," Dean said as he fished in his pocket for his cell phone. He flipped it open and brought it to his ear. "Hello? Yeah. This is him." He looked surprised, then his face broke out into a huge grin. "Andrea? How is Lucas doing? Here, let me put you on speaker."

Sam had to think for a moment about the importance of those names, of Andrea and Lucas. It took less than a second before he remembered the lake, the boy who had been drowned in the water, the mother and son they had saved.

"Lucas is doing great. He's trying to convince me to get him an old car like yours when he gets his learner's permit," her voice said in the tinny speakers of Dean's cheap flip phone.

"Damn... Learner's permit? I'm getting old. And it's a classic car, not old."

Andrea laughed on the other end of the line. "You're old? I'm his  _mom._ "

"Hello Andrea," Sam said once Dean set the phone on the computer desktop.

"Oh," her voice said quietly. "Oh, Sam. Hello!" She sounded almost surprised, though Sam didn't know quite why. "You two, you are still hunting, right? That's what I've... heard."

"Yeah. Where are you at? You got something going on there?" Dean asked, leaning close to the phone. Sam found himself mimicking his brother's posture.

"I'm in the Des Plaines, Illinois. The burbs of Chicago. And there is a museum not far from here that has some suspicious stuff going on. It seemed like a poltergeist, from what I could tell. I know a few hunters, but none that are close by that I think could handle a poltergeist." Dean glanced up and shared a look with Sam. They couldn't know whether or not Andrea was in the thick of it or not, but it certainly sounded like the supernatural world hadn't left her alone over the years.

"We'd be glad to help, Andrea," Sam said.

"Thanks, Sam," she said. "I'll send you all the information and my... address. I'll give you all the information that you need when you get here."

Dean began typing out the address into the computer as Andrea recited it to him.

After they ended the phone call, Johnny let out a faint grunt as he thudded to the floor, wanting to sit after having stood between Cas's legs all this time. Dean's attention went first to Johnny and then to the angel. "Huh... So, um, Cas, what do you think about playing babysitter?"


	22. Make New Friends But Keep the Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters get the low-down on the latest mission, and Cas gets called out for his research on Purgatory.

_"Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose."_

_Tennesee Williams, American author and playwright._

Dean's hands twitched at the wheel. New parenthood sucked ass, as far as he was concerned, because he knew he couldn't take Johnny with him on the hunt, but leaving him behind at Bobby's blew. He felt antsy, like he was heading in the wrong direction, even though he knew that the directions were right and Cas had Johnny.

He clenched and unclenched the steering wheel beneath his hands. He couldn't make a U-turn and he couldn't justify another pit stop. They'd had one a half hour before, and he had stopped at least a half dozen times already to check in on Cas and Johnny. He tried to be subtle about it, but he wasn't fooling himself or, apparently, Sam.

"Are you sure you don't want to just trade off with Cas?"

"Andrea doesn't know Cas, and I gotta be honest here, she sounded a little uneasy about you." That made Dean wonder just what she knew about them. If she knew other hunters, well, hunters can be a chatty bunch when they wanted to be, and some of the stories that still circulated about Sam, and Dean to a lesser extent, weren't exactly the most flattering. Honestly, they were just lucky no other bastards like Roy and Walt had tried to break into their hotel roomws and shoot them.

Mind, Cas had done a lot to dissuade any further attempts. The minute he'd realized Dean and Sam were in heaven, he'd tracked down the people who put them there. At least, the minute  _after_ he'd appeared to them in the TV in Sam's slice of heaven. Cas had gone full wrath of heaven on Walt and left Roy to tell the tale that the Winchester brothers were protected by heaven itself, and if any other hunters got any bright ideas about harming ether of them, they would face angelic opposition. Dean had been impressed, if more than a little disappointed he hadn't gotten to handle the assholes himself. As for Roy, the hunter trusted Cas's judgment let him live because he hadn't actually fired his weapon and Cas had said the man had  _literally_  pissed himself.

"Besides," Dean said as he focused on the road ahead, "I need to get used to this. I might be doing it a little sooner than I'd have liked, but there are gonna be times I can't take Johnny with me, and there will be hunts that I have to at least help take care of."

Even if Dean wanted to be a full-time Dad with a normal job and let the other three do the hunts, it wasn't likely. Bobby just wasn't as young as he used to be, Cas could be sensed by some of the beasties they encountered and was horribly awkward with the humans, and this wasn't a job that a person could-or should-do alone, so Sam needed someone for backup.

"And you swore to me that your computer and Bobby's were all set up."

"They are," Sam said. It was only two words but there was something about the way he'd said them that made Dean smirk.

"Tested 'em out with the girlfriend?" he asked.

"Bite me," Sam said. "At least I've got one. Best you can manage is a little cuddle with an angel in a trenchcoat." At that, he'd raised his phone to Dean's line of sight where a photo that Bobby had obviously taken and sent was crystal clear on Sam's shiny new smartphone-Dean didn't know and didn't care what kind it was; he only needed one that could call or text, and he could always steal Sam's to play Angry Birds.

"I hate you all," Dean said as he saw the sign for Des Plaines town limits ahead. It looked like a nice little town, even if it boasted itself as a city. It brought back memories of living with Lisa. It had been pleasant enough, quiet enough, but Dean had secretly felt as though something was crawling under his skin. That perfect, quiet, apple pie life might have been fine, might have been something he secretly still wished for, but he wasn't cut out for it. Even going to his job each day he had been watching over his shoulder for the next monster. No, Dean knew he was too messed up to function in suburbia.

Dean made his way to Andrea's address, as dictated by the GPS in Sam's phone. His brother was dying to try the thing out, and even if that faux-British electronic voice annoyed the everliving crap out of him, he still had trouble denying Sam when he got excited about something. On the way, they passed a museum entirely dedicated to McDonalds, which seemed like a museum that Dean could actually be interested in.

Andrea's house was nice, probably built sometime around the turn of the century but well kept. Blue-gray siding covered the outside of the house, with white accents and a black door. There were flowers everywhere, which didn't especially surprise Dean. There was something about Andrea that made him think of her as someone who was likely to surround herself in flowers. The front lawn featured all of the trappings of parenthood, with a few odd toys, a bike parked against the garage, a small slide-which meant that Lucas was no longer an only child.

He pulled his baby into the driveway and smiled as he saw Andrea step out of the house to greet them and a little girl that was her her spitting image poked her head out from behind her mother. She looked happy. Gone was that layer of sadness and mourning that had understandably hung around her. In its place was a woman who looked satisfied and confident.

The Impala's door gave its usual squeak as it opened and it was no time at all before Dean found himself with arms full of Andrea Barr, or whatever her name was now. She gave him a solid squeeze and a quick kiss on the cheek. It was, Dean supposed, what it must feel like to greet a sister he hadn't seen for months or years. There was no underlying temptation to flirt with her, or even the impression that the flirting would be well received.

"I'm so glad you could come," she said. "You're looking well." Again, there was something about the way she said that that made Dean feel like she had been expecting otherwise. "I can't believe it's been seven years."

Her attention turned to Sam, who was getting out of the Impala. Dean watched as his little brother gave the woman his very best innocent puppy face, which had its intended effect. The hesitation faded and Andrea gave him a warm hug in return. Dean was grateful that he wasn't the one labeled as the person who started the apocalypse or the vessel for Lucifer. He was pretty sure he couldn't give the puppy dog eyes and convince someone he wasn't evil.

As Andrea caught up with Sam, Dean caught sight of the little girl poking her head around the large porch bannister with a shy smile in his direction. She reminded Dean of her mother, with her dark, wavy hair and toothy smile, but her cautiousness and wide eyes made the image of Lucas that had been getting hazy over time in Dean's mind once again crystal clear.

"Hey there," he said as he stood at the bottom of the porch steps, "I'm Dean." The girl's eyes widened slightly. "I don't bite, I swear." For a split second, she looked horrified just at the idea that someone  _might_  bite. The startled expression faded and little lips formed a firm line; she looked at him very seriously.

"Are you the man who saved Lucas from the lake?"

Dean wondered just how much this little girl knew, and he definitely didn't want to give away too much. He simply nodded his head. That was enough for this girl, however, who launched herself at Dean. "Mommy's told me all about you!" she cried out as Dean had to literally catch her to keep her from falling off the porch and down the stairs. "Lucas too! You rescued Lucas when he fell off the dock."

He couldn't believe that he'd thought this girl was shy. Apparently her silence had been hero worship. Dean would have felt hugely flattered if he wasn't so floored by what she said next. "Mommy named me after you. Sorta. I'm Dana!" He looked down at the little girl who beamed back at him. "Is that Sam?" Again, Dean could only nod. "I'm named after him, too. Dana Samantha."

She had no fear in her brown eyes as she hugged him tightly and gave him a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek. The faint bit of a beard must have been new for her because she rubbed her cheek momentarily before slowly wiggling out of his grasp. Dana slipped out of Dean's arms and ran over to the car, very happily standing in front of Sam and grinning up at him.

At the moment, Dean was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Andrea had named her daughter after him, after them. He still hadn't entirely overcome his shock when Andrea stepped to his side and said, fondly. "I see you've met Dana," she said with a smile as the little girl hugged Sam's legs and gave him the look that clearly said she wanted picked up.

Dean's brother was awkward as he tried to interact with the little girl. He hadn't gotten a lot of practice with Johnny yet to get used to babies, let alone a four-year-old ball of energy. "And I see you still haven't lost your way with children."

"Well, let's hope not." There must have been something about how he'd said that because Andrea was now looking at him strangely. Sam was standing by the Impala, picking up the girl who seemed amazed at the height, though it wasn't like it was  _that_  much higher than Dean was holding her. Just three or four inches.

Dean decided showing was probably easier than telling when it came to explaining why he had sounded so grateful for some natural affinity for children. He reached into the back pocket of his worn jeans and pulled out his wallet. Sheriff Mills'-Josie, she had insisted she be called-suggestion had been a good one, one he could carry around with him just like his dad had always had a photo of Sam and Dean with him, even as they had gotten older and no longer resembled the little boys sitting on the hood of the Impala. The picture on top was of the whole family, but since Andrea didn't know Bobby or Cas, he flipped up the thin plastic photo holder to reveal Johnny's photo on the back. "That's my son," he said, and damn if he didn't sound a lot like his dad at that.

"He's adorable," Andrea said. Dean knew that there would be some who might flinch or react if the photo revealed his arm, but Dean was fairly sure Andrea wasn't one of them. "Is his mom a hunter, too?"

"God, no," Dean said. "And she has nothing to do-won't ever have anything to do with him, if I have anything to say about it." He sighed when he realized how taken aback the woman was by the vitriol in his tone. "It's a really long story," he tried to reassure her, "but Johnny's mom was a witch." Then, he realized she knew hunters other than him and Sam and might take that the wrong way. "I mean that as in there are little ears listening, not as in, you know, drop a house on her, not that I'd cry if someone did."

Andrea nodded, "I assumed." She smiled at him and there wasn't really a lot of need to fill the silences that followed, though Dean did have plenty of questions he wanted to ask. He noticed as she let out a snicker when Dana tried to take Sam to her playhouse and insisted he join her for tea. The house, one of those durable plastic things, was probably only a few feet high and would in no way hold the sasquatch of a man.

"How's Lucas doing?" Dean asked.

"Really well. He's on the track team at his high school. My husband is the coach. He got him interested in it. He's doing really well in his classes, art especially. He... lapses sometimes. Usually after a trigger of some kind. Other times,he just goes quiet for a few days for no reason. Even he can't explain it. It doesn't happen quite as often now."

Dean understood that all too well. "It should keep getting better, but his first instinct is always going to be to not talk, either at all, or at least about what happened. Make sure people understand that. Your husband especially. It's sometimes really hard for people who didn't see him silent like that or who don't remember..." He glanced up at his brother, who had his head and shoulder wedged into the tiny plastic house. "They won't always get it."

She gently placed a hand on Dean's arm. It wasn't as though he had been as bad as Lucas; he hadn't been able to stay quiet for nearly as much or as long because Sammy had been around and his dad had possessed only so much tolerance for the silence in the situations that called for Dean to talk. But if it wasn't important, if it wasn't a matter of life and death, John Winchester had been content to let Dean to cope in the quiet. Sometimes, Dean had thought that his father had preferred the quiet as he mourned, himself.

"So," he said, trying to break up the very serious and way too vulnerable moment, "you mentioned other hunters. How did you get involved in hunting?" he asked. He looked at the house and garage, well manicured lawn, the occasional toy or playset here or there-he never understood homes with children that didn't look like kids lived there-and though his next question seemed unlikely, he asked it anyway. "Is your husband a hunter?"

Andrea immediately began to laugh. "Oh, no." She got herself under control. "I'm sorry. Just, you'll understand when you meet him."

#

They did once they met him. Alan North looked like one of those men who could probably eat a twelve-course meal and never gain a pound but at the same time, work out for hours each day and never add a pound of muscle, either. Though he was shorter than Sam, he was—much to Dean's irritation—taller than the older brother. His long gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and while he might have been a bit of a milquetoast, he seemed to care about Andrea and the children.

The moment Lucas, who had gotten tall with his red hair in one of those longer cuts with bangs that swept across the width of his forehead, spotted Dean, he rushed forward and offered the man a hug that was as warm and welcoming as those Sam offered his brother. Dean looked, at first, shocked but was quick to recover and return the hug. "Heya, Lucas. You're growing like a weed."

Sam smiled as he watched the two reconnect as Dana looked up at them with a grin on her little face. Never did Sam think a child would be named after him, even as a middle name, and he couldn't help that he was a little pleased at the idea. As Lucas was busy talking to Dean and explaining how he got some of his friends into Zepplin, Alan crossed over toward Sam.

"You must be Sam. I gathered from Lucas that was Dean," the soft-spoken man said. "I know that I didn't know her at the time, but I realize that I have the two of you to thank for the fact that I got to meet my lovely wife and Lucas." He extended a hand toward Sam and offered a smile. Sam shook the hand offered to him and tried not to squeeze the man's hand too tightly, especially when he realized how little response he was going to get from Alan. The man really didn't have much in the way of a firm handshake.

"Did Andrea already explain that there were two beds available? Well, a bed and a futon. Your brother won't be too insulted if I suggest he sleeps on the futon, will he? I don't think you'll fit. I barely do."

Sam laughed. "Probably, but don't take it personally. It'll just be for show."

The chuckle Alan gave in response sounded almost as though he knew Dean well enough to understand Sam's meaning. His gentle smile broadened as Dana ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his knees. The man quickly picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Daddy! You met Sam. He played in my dollhouse, sorta," she said. That was a moment of embarrassment that, if Dean was smart, he probably caught on his cell phone for future humiliation. "He can fit even less in than you, Daddy."

Alan smiled at his daughter in much the same way Dean looked at Johnny, and Sam was once again struck by how quickly his brother had adapted to fatherhood. "I think I'm going to say hello to your brother and then leave you two to my wife and son. They can probably tell you better why you're here than me. I prefer to just be supportive."

As Alan walked over to Dean, he heard him asking Dana what she thought about helping him make a dessert for the brothers. It was a distraction tactic, the younger Winchester was sure, but the little girl seemed excited all the same. "Do I get to lick the spoon?" she asked as they headed for the house.

"Only  _after_  we're done," Alan said with a smile as he gently kissed the girl's nose. He may not have been cut out to be a hunter, but there was little doubt in Sam's mind he was a good dad.

As father and daughter made their way inside, Andrea led them all to a picnic table at the side of the house while Lucas ran inside to get something. Sam had to do some maneuvering to fit his knees between the attached table and bench. Andrea was on the other side of Sam's bench and looked slightly amused at his struggle, but was far more polite than Dean would have been. As it was, Dean hadn't had the easiest time sitting on his own seat, and so he hadn't noticed Sam's more comical attempts.

"Sorry about the table," Andrea said. "It was Alan's attempt at being handy, and he refuses to admit he made it a little too short." She smiled affectionately, though Sam doubted she'd be so good-natured about it if she were taller.

Lucas came back out with a laptop and a stack of papers. He smiled at Sam and said hello as he took his seat beside Dean. Just as Andrea had before, he seemed a little uneasy with Sam. The younger brother didn't understand why, but he  _did_  know that feeling like his every move was being watched was getting old.

"I'm going to let Lucas take the lead on this one," Andrea said. "This is really more his research."

The redheaded boy looked nervous, like someone getting the opportunity to shoot a free throw in front of their basketball hero. "Well," he said, clearing his throat and letting his surprisingly deep voice try again, "well, um, you should probably know that this town is really nice most of the time, but it's got a history." He pushed his bangs to the side out of his eyes and handed Dean and Sam some scattered newspaper stories that he must have printed out at the library.

"John Wayne Gacy?" Dean asked the instant he read the headline.

"Some of his victims came from my high school," Lucas said. "But there hasn't been any sighting of him, no poltergeist activity in the area, nothing. At least, not that anyone could think was Gacy. Until two months ago."

"What changed two months ago?" Sam asked. Lucas turned his computer so both brothers, if they leaned partly across the table, could see.

"Well, I can't be sure it's even Gacy. The bodies of two college guys showed up, first one then another. They were dismembered, ripped apart. It doesn't meet Gacy's history. There isn't a kid who grew up here who doesn't know the stuff that that sick fucker-"

"Lucas!"

"Sorry, Mom. But yeah, what changed was Oscar Lenko," Lucas said. "He's a collector of the occult and the weird. He's got a lot of items in his collection that could be a problem, but there haven't been any reports of strange murders surrounding him until he moved here. So, either he's got something new or part of his old collection has a connection to this place."

Dean took control of the mousepad and scrolled down. Sam gave Lucas an encouraging smile. "This is some really impressive research you've gathered here." The teen grinned proudly, and whatever unease he might have had around Sam was obviously fading in the background.

"Thanks," he said.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean said, sounding morbidly amused, "this is going to be the hunt from hell for you." He turned the laptop to face Sam directly.

The younger hunter read the highlighted section aloud. "'Among Mr. Lenko's collection is the hat to John Wayne Gacy's Pogo the Clown uniform.'" He looked at Dean with a frown. "You've got to be kidding me."

"There's a photo attached, too." Dean scrolled down a bit further and despite himself, Sam found himself lurching backwards in the seat and letting out a noise that wasn't quite a gasp, but it was still fairly embarrassing.

"What the hell is up with that mouth? Who gives a clown a pointed, creepy red grin?" he asked as he tried to look  _anywhere_  but at the freaky-ass picture on the computer screen.

"So... we could be facing down a serial killer clown. Not the first time."

Sam let his head drop to the awkward angle to smack on the wood of the pine table. He hated his life.

#

Bobby could hear Castiel moving about upstairs, getting Johnny down for a late nap that would probably turn into an early bedtime. He was stewing as he laid in wait for the angel. As he had been doing since the angel brigade came in and left his home in neat upheaval, Bobby had checked all of his supplies and his modest library on all things supernatural. The problem, however, was that  _this_  time he found a book on Purgatory not where it had been the last time he'd checked. The most likely suspect for that was Cas, and while he didn't want to immediately suspect the angel of wrongdoing, what he had done, how he had hurt Elle... Bobby's instincts told him Cas was the one to blame.

He'd realized the mix-up a few hours ago and had tried to be pleasant—as pleasant as Bobby got, at least—despite the fact he wanted to corner the feathered bastard as soon as he'd found out. But Johnny had been around and awake and Bobby didn't want to scare the poor kid. But Johnny was asleep now, and the hunter wasn't going to hold back any longer.

Cas came back into the living room. "I believe Dean is going to be disappointed this evening. I think he was looking forward to seeing Johnny via Sam's computer." The angel looked at Bobby and the sentence he uttered next pittered out like a dying engine as he realized that he was getting the stink eye. "Perhaps you will be able to show me how to use the photo function on my cell phone."

"Funny thing about being a paranoid bastard and having a half dozen angels roaming around your house unfettered," Bobby said as he eyed Cas from behind the desk. Already the angel looked twitchy, not so different from how Dean and Sam used to look as kids, and still did sometimes now as grown men, when they got caught doing something they shouldn't. "You tend to check to make sure all of your things are where they're supposed to be. Then you re-check them a couple times to make sure they've stayed there."

The fact that Cas now seemed to have some trouble meeting Bobby's eyes made him look all the more like a guilty child.

"You know," Bobby said, "you don't have the attention to detail that Metatron's got. Considering you're the one who put Dean back together, we should probably be grateful that you didn't mix up a liver or kidney or something."

Almost instantly, the angel's face lost the contrite expression and turned indignant. "I would never-"

"No talking from you right now," Bobby said. "You'll speak when I tell you to speak." He knew that Castiel could easily break him in two with a snap of his fingers, but at the moment, the angel looked too accepting of Bobby's ire at that moment. If the hunter didn't know better, he would have said that Cas seemed to think that he was right.

There was a moment of silence as Cas obeyed Bobby's orders and as the hunter tried to formulate how he was going to discuss this issue.

Finally, the silence was broken when Cas looked up at Bobby earnestly and said, "Have you called Dean?"

Of course, of all the things the angel could be worried about, his focus was on Dean. Everything revolved around Dean for Cas; it was why he went to the mat for him so often. Hell, it had been why he had tried to pop Purgatory the first time, the only time if Bobby had anything to do with it.

"No. Do I  _need_  to?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Now, you're going to sit there," he said, pointing to the sofa, "and tell me what the hell you were doing looking at my books on Purgatory. I thought you were done with that."

The angel looked ready to answer when very suddenly, apparently even for Cas, he was gone.

#

Dean was on his way back from a trip to the local convenience store. Alan was, apparently, a recovering alcoholic of seventeen years, so there was not been so much as near-beer at the house. The hunter totally respected Alan's ability to quit Dean's own self-medication of choice, but Dean also knew that, save for Johnny's presence at his side, it was the only thing that cut through the nightmares.

Naturally, Sam had realized where Dean was going and why and had given him one of those classically bitchy, disapproving frowns of his. But that hadn't stopped the older brother from going.

To his credit, Dean was now only drinking a few beers as he leaned against his Impala in the parking lot of a nearby park. He was, after all, staying at a house with kids, and it would be better for them to be as safeguarded from a drunk Dean as much as the weapons that had to stay in his Baby's trunk.

And it wasn't as though his entire trek out had been a waste of time. While out among the locals, he'd been able to get a little more of the general population's impression of this guy, Lenko. From the sound of it, he was pretty much despised by everyone in the area for not only buying but promoting the fact that he owned Gacy's Pogo hat. Lenko didn't tell everything that was in his collection, but he liked to announce to people the more controversial items, and he even bragged that some were cursed.

Unlike some reclusive collectors, it was obvious that Lenko did this, in part, for the attention. He even offered tours of his stuff to get people interested. That was where the two bodies came in. Two guys from a nearby college had gone on separate tours of Lenko's hall of horrors. One had been found at the park where Dean was slowly sipping his beer, the other was discovered on the quad at his campus. Both, in Dean's opinion, sounded more like they had been attacked by a werewolf than an angry spirit, intact heart aside, but Gacy had been a sick fucker, so who could really say?

Torso torn to ribbons, limbs dismembered. Naturally, no medical examiner would look for signs of rape, part of Gacy's M.O., in what seemed like a large animal attack.

Dean had to admit it had been nice to come into a hunt with a little knowledge of what they were dealing with. He was just a little disturbed that 14-year-old Lucas had been the one to compile all of that research. The only small consolation was that the boy did seem to have a difficult time with any graphic details of Lenko's collection or Gacy's crimes, so he wasn't too far gone.

Dean could hardly believe, though, that he'd be working on a case sent to him by the little boy he'd rescued from the lake. The kid seemed really well adjusted, liked his step-father, and though he could be a little quiet at times, he was as talkative as a person could expect a teenager around adults to be. Dean did notice, though, as he toured the house that not everything from his encounter at the lake had left Lucas untouched. Not only did Lucas have an obvious interest in the supernatural, but he was definitely still drawing. A majority of what he drew was dark. An "outlet," he'd called it.

_It's definitely better than mine_ , Dean thought as he twisted the top off another beer.

When his cell phone began to ring, Dean pulled it out of his inside pocket and checked the name on the screen. It was Bobby, and it was an hour earlier than they'd agreed to set up the camera. With a four-year-old in the house and plenty of questions about the case that would need answered, they'd all agreed to wait until the little girl went to her bedroom at night. Johnny didn't usually crash—if he'd had a nap—until nine or so, which meant Dean would get the chance to see him.

He answered the phone and immediately detected by Bobby's tone that this wasn't going to be a social call. Not even a work-related call.

"We've got problems." Bobby fairly quickly cut to the chase.

"What kind?"

"The fluffy happy rainbow kind," Bobby snapped. "What the hell kind do you think?"

"Hey, 'problems' for us is sort of a sliding scale from running out of diapers for Johnny to the freaking Apocalypse. So, which end we talking about, here?"

"Cas is researching Purgatory."

"And did you ask him why?" Dean asked almost immediately because if his friend was pulling that same shit again, he was going to kill him.

"Well, I tried, but as soon as I did, something took him away. I couldn't see anything, and none of the angels are exactly returning my calls to see if this was their doing."

"But you think it was," Dean said more so than asked.

"Whatever it was got Cas by surprise. That doesn't happen. And trust me when I say that the look on the guy's face was definitely surprise."

"Who do you think took him?" Dean asked, trying to ignore the feeling of his heart and stomach sinking down to somewhere around his feet.

"Who do you think is powerful enough to get the jump on Cas?" Bobby asked from the other end of the line.

"Fuck." Dean knew that Crowley, despite some half-hearted attempts at Cas's life since they had worked together on Purgatory a year ago, couldn't have snatched the angel from inside Bobby's well warded home. "The only thing that could have done it is—"

"Me," said a voice to his right.


	23. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the words a person needs to hear aren't the nicest.

" _Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfills the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to the unhealthy state of things."_

_Winston Churchill, British Prime Minister_

Castiel didn't recognize the location, or at least who the room in heaven belonged to, but the extreme minimalistic conditions and spotlessly white interior, interspersed with a bit of silver and matching technology implied someone who had very strong beliefs in neatness and order.

He looked to his left to see Azrael at his side. The lower-ranked angel could feel goosebumps prickling up his borrowed arms and neck. Azrael had brought him to heaven. He knew what that meant for humans, but what did it mean for him?

"Don't look to me for answers, Castiel," she said. "I was just acting as your cabbie." Her voice took on its usual bored yet superior tone. "But for now, I'm going to go prevent your boyfriend from doing something stupid."

And with that, Azrael was gone.

Castiel wandered about what constituted one man's version of heaven and tried to no avail to escape. He could not even explore the bathroom or bedroom in what he realized must have been a high-rise condominium. Azrael had essentially tethered him to the room that overlooked buildings that seemed familiar, some from New York, others from Los Angeles and elsewhere in the country, a few he recognized from even elsewhere in the world. It made for an unusual city, designed and orderly almost to mimic that office. It was odd to note the change to heaven even in this small detail. Heavens could now be personalized, from a condo that the human may or may not have owned to the city view that was most appealing to the owner's eyes.

Castiel vaguely recalled Dean describing his time in the asylum with the wraith; he'd spoken of how sterile the rooms had been. The angel imagined with harsher lighting, this minimalistic room with its brushed silver accents could easily resemble the place the brothers had been so happy to escape. It also put him in mind of one other room, one which he had gotten to see for himself.

Though the room was, in many ways, different from the green room where Zachariah had held Dean, there was something so very alike. Perhaps it was the common purpose, maybe it was the prospect of being stuck in the near-white room made Castiel have a new appreciation for how Dean must have felt. There were people, his family, who he wanted to return to as soon as possible. Dean and Johnny... He had been taken before he could even explain, before he could prevent them from being left to only think the very worst of them. He wouldn't be keeping this from them; even if he had made a mistake, he was trying to fix it.

He was very nearly to the point of yelling out, for the lack of anything more productive to do, when the sound of wings signaled the arrival of some of his brethren. "Mmm... a place like this makes you want to do something to dirty it up," Balthazar said with a mischievous grin.

"Really?" a young voice said as Metatron entered at the other angel's side. This vessel was once again European, but French from the sound of the accent in his Enochian. "You're keeping up the dirty jokes now?" Castiel wasn't surprised at Metatron's disdain, given the fact that the angel was currently inside a vessel who looked to be barely a teenager, complete with the still-childlike skin and squeaking voice.

"I was thinking of something more along the lines of a bottle of ink, my dear Metatron, but we can all see where your mind went." The young face's eyes narrowed at the blond angel, and while this might be funny enough to witness normally, Castiel was in no mood for levity.

"Why am I here? Am I to go through reconditioning again?" Castiel asked, and if there was a tremor in his hand at the thought of going through that torture once again he didn't acknowledge it. "Do you intend to keep me here?"

"This isn't about making you toe the line," Metatron said. "Not really. This is about why, once again, you are even  _contemplating_  having anything to do with Purgatory."

Castiel looked from Metatron to his youngest brother. For a moment, he looked incredibly serious, but the somber expression quickly faded and a broad grin spread across his face. "I've always wanted to participate in an intervention," Balthazar said. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a sheet of paper that he very ceremoniously unfolded and held in front of him like an announcement from an ancient court. "Dear Cassie, It worries me when you begin researching Purgatory." Metatron rolled blue eyes, but didn't interrupt. "It also seriously pisses me off because you very nearly killed me the last time you went dabbling in the place." Blue eyes met Castiel's from above the top of the white sheet of paper. "Don't think I didn't see you consider pulling out that angel blade."

Castiel had assumed exactly that, actually. And he didn't fight the surprise that washed over his face at the fact that his brother continued to have anything to do with him afterward, let alone helped him with Johnny. It put him in a position of stunned silence, though he knew he should be apologizing profusely. If there really was an appropriate way to apologize for contemplating killing his own brother.

Without any verbal cues from Castiel, Balthazar explained all the same. "I stick around because you actually put the thing away. And I've threatened your little pets a lot in the past." He turned his attention back to the paper. "We really want you to seek help-"

Metatron's hand moved to Balthazar's arm. "That's enough," he said in what was probably intended to be an authoritative voice. Unfortunately, his borrowed voice cracked and squeaked and sent Balthazar into uproarious laughter and might have made Castiel smirk in a different situation. "This isn't a humorous situation."

After a few moments of silence and expectant looks from Metatron and Balthazar, he finally answered the unasked question of why he was doing this. "I fear Purgatory may be where I sent Jimmy Novak."

"I'm ashamed of you and embarrassed for you that it took you so long to realize that your vessel's soul was missing," Metatron said. Castiel looked at the former human intently. He could scarcely believe this was the same man who had taken such insult to Balthazar's long-term use of the same vessel. In comparison to eternity in Purgatory, a few decades trapped in the background of a mind sounded infinitely preferable.

"You may be disappointed and embarrassed," Castiel said, "but reprimanding me does no good for Jimmy."

And if Jimmy were in Purgatory, I would completely agree with you. But he isn't." Metatron settled onto the white leather sofa. "While you were intently focused on your goal of free will for all at any cost, Balthazar came to me and told me what you had been doing."

Castiel remembered Metatron's determination to stay out of the war, so he was astonished that Balthazar had gone to him, even given Balthazar's consistent attachment with the human-turned-angel. Metatron had been very clear that he was staying out of the civil war. He feared that he would come to represent all of humanity and that the victor—particularly if it was Raphael—would make humans suffer for Metatron's actions.

"I'd already told the Winchesters where you were, and without a lot of convincing, I wasn't nearly stupid enough to go back to you when you were all crazed gung-ho to protect your little loverboy," Balthazar said. ""You'd threatened Dean and done God-knows-what to Sam. I didn't expect you to do me any favors."

"But you  _did_  come back," Castiel said.

"Not alone. Azrael was there the entire time." He turned his attention to Metatron, who was busy flipping through an industry magazine from decades ago that promoted the buyout of NeXT computers and the change-up in executives at the purchasing company. "You really don't give me enough credit for that. Cas was unstable and hopped up on Hell souls, and I had to provide a distraction for the..." Balthazar looked around the condo cautiously. "...scariest archangel in the whole of heaven. I deserve an award just for not pissing myself."

Metatron offered him three unenthusiastic claps before focusing on Castiel. "Azrael took Jimmy out of you before you could do any more damage," Metatron said.

"Since you weren't getting my hints."

Castiel frowned. "Hints?"

"Who do you think sicced Sam on Singer?"

The anger and frustration that Castiel had been experiencing came to a head with a new rage. He launched himself at his younger brother. " _You_  did that? You nearly got Bobby killed! You nearly made it impossible for Sam to come back whole!" The hunters had become his family, and even the one angel who was closest to being a real brother to him was not beyond his anger at threats to the Winchesters or Bobby. The two of them fell tho the floor, hitting a nearby table and sending some chrome vase shattering to the floor. The two tousled on the floor a moment or two before a wave of Metatron's hand sent them both to opposite corners of the large living area.

"I was trying to make the point to you that you were going down a dangerous path," Balthazar said as he readjusted his clothes, "one that might make it impossible for Jimmy to even stay in his body, and I knew you cared, at least a little, about your vessel. Plus, I had no love for the humans who made my most reliable brother rebel. I  _barely_  do now."

"Balthazar was reprimanded for his actions," Metatron said before letting them both free of his Grace. He set the magazine down on the coffee table. "Which is far more disciplinary action than you received for  _your_ actions. Your partial exile to Earth hardly counts when it is so painfully obvious that is where you want to be."

The teenaged body moved gracefully to Castiel's side and a hand was extended to the angel. "Would you like to see where he is?"

#

Dean really wished he hadn't jumped about a foot off the ground and flailed around like a four-year-old on a sugar high when Azrael suddenly appeared at his side. The damned angel was just too quiet on her approach. He knew arguing and trying to lay down some authority-even if it would be a complete and total bluff-was pointless after nearly crapping himself at the archangel's sudden appearance. As it was, Dean practically felt the need to cry, either at the sheer perfection of the monsters now sitting on the hood of the car or at the disgraceful abuse of his Baby as a table. He wasn't sure which.

"Enjoy," Azrael said. "They're from a quaint little diner. Apparently, if you manage to eat them all, you get a T-shirt, but I have very little use for one and you didn't seem to be coming with me, so I got them to go."

"You took Cas," Dean said, deciding to focus his anger on the really important issue. "Are you going to, what, reprogram him again?"

"Castiel needs to learn not to mess about with Purgatory," the Angel of Death said as thin fingers retrieved a set of plastic silverware from inside a nearby bag. As delicately as Dean had ever seen anyone eat a hotdog, Azrael began cutting the—at least—one pound beast into manageable bites.

"So what exactly does that mean?" Dean snarled. "Are you just going to torture him again until he learns the error of his ways?"

"You really don't need to worry about how we handle family business, Dean."

"Well, your family is pretty shitty at handling things."

Azrael gave him a smile that made Dean's blood run cold. Seriously, where the hell had Azrael found a vessel that creepy. Angel inside or not, that woman was otherworldly. "Those in glass Impalas shouldn't throw stones. As I recall, you didn't 'handle' Castiel all that well when he decided to team up with the King of Hell."

Dean did his very best to not react to Azrael essentially twisting the blade of his own guilt regarding Cas that year. "You'd sure as hell better be bringing him back or I'll find a way to do it for you."

The brown-haired angel seemed almost amused as she popped another piece of hot dog into her mouth. "From anyone else, I would consider that an idle threat, but I know better with you. You have no need to worry, Dean, your friend will be returned to you in more or less the same condition in which he left." She extended a hand to the hotdog on the hood. "Now, do eat your hot dog. It's impolite to let it go to waste."

#

In life, the Roadhouse was not the sort of place that would have held any interest for Jimmy Novak, but in death, it was one of the few places where anything actually made sense. There was a sort of acceptance tinged with bitterness stronger than even the cheapest of beer. The world had been saved, and they may have been grateful for it, but meeting the Winchesters and/or Castiel had done a number on their own lives.

Ellen and Jo were perhaps the least angry at the Winchesters, though each had had one moment of getting just drunk enough they had finally railed at the injustice of their own deaths, the fact that Dean and Sam had died, but never permanently, that the two men had played their roles in starting the Apocalypse so well, and that none of them had been prepared enough to anticipate Meg or the hellhounds. Jo had added to her own drunken ramblings that she hated that she still couldn't shake the crush she'd had on Dean from the moment she saw him.

Others were much angrier, and if given enough to drink or the right company, that resentment surfaced full-force. Jimmy had already been informed by Ellen that if he wanted to sit with Pamela and bitch about Castiel, he could go somewhere else.  _"I understand you're bitter about the way things went down, but he's a friend and between the two of you, you'd think the angel was Hitler."_  Jimmy was never so vicious toward the angel he'd gotten to know so well than when he spoke with the psychic woman, so he could understand Ellen's words.

At the moment, though, he wasn't speaking out of his irritation, but instead out of how dumbfounded he still was sometimes by the dynamics of the remaining members of Team Free Will.

"Do you know the worst part of it?" Jimmy said as he finished off another beer. Ellen was quick to supply another. "I don't think they even have a clue. Though, God help me, if they ever do realize it, I'll be grateful I'm up here and not stuck there."

Ellen simply laughed and poured herself a little whiskey.

"We've got some action on the angel radio," Ash said from his end of the bar. Jimmy didn't quite realize why Ash still felt the need to eavesdrop on the angels. He worked with them nearly every day, refashioning heaven as something more than happy memories—not that it wasn't still possible to go back and visit the past—and yet he didn't seem to trust them. Jimmy's hand paused on its way to his mouth. Come to think of it, not trusting angels was probably the wisest advice anyone could get.

"Are you ever going to get rid of that thing?" said the voice of a boy with a distinctive French accent. There were only a few angels who consistently visited Ash at the roadhouse, and this particular one made trying to keep track of who he was especially difficult.

"Until I'm given the chance to go native like you and hear it up here," Ash said, pointing to his head, "I'm going to keep listening in on the radio." The mulleted man grinned. "I mean, you haven't made me get rid of it yet, so I don't really think you mind."

Jimmy looked up at the raven-haired teenager, who looked far less awkward and more confident than his body was probably accustomed to. He was relatively tall, and there were some features that put him at fourteen or fifteen, but others were far more delicate and other aspects of his body nearly androgynous that made Jimmy want to place him much younger. It made him think of when Castiel had take over Claire's body and how wrong it had been to think a child capable of giving a knowing "yes."

Any questions he might have had for Metatron, however, were cut off by seeing  _his own_  body standing at the other angel's side. Being on the outside rather than in was a totally new experience for him, and it was a bit like an expert puppeteer watching a child play with his trademark puppet. Castiel didn't manipulate his limbs the same way. He was, at once, both graceful and awkward. Jimmy saw his shoulders take on an unusual slump, saw his eyes almost never blink, saw his face twisted in regret.

"You're here," Jimmy heard Cas speak and wondered just how the angel hadn't destroyed his vocal chords speaking in that low rattle.

"After everything you put me through, you thought I'd end up in the other place?" Jimmy asked, incredulously.

Cas shook his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath that Jimmy knew the angel didn't need to survive. It was remarkable how Castiel had become so much more human. "I thought I'd sent you to Purgatory." Castiel said, then seemed to feel the need to add, "Not intentionally."

"Despite my disagreements with you over the last year, I never once thought you might send me there on purpose." Jimmy slid from the barstool and walked over to the angel wearing his body. "So you know I'm safe. You can go about your business."

The angel shook his head. "I need to apologize."

"If it's for the last year, don't waste your breath. I know you don't feel sorry for what you did, maybe how you did it, but not that you did. You were trying to protect the Winchesters, humanity, you aren't sorry for that."

"I'm not. But of late, I have gotten a better understanding of what I took from you." Jimmy began to protest that Cas didn't have any idea what he had lost, but the angel prevented it. "Dean has a son. I... am helping him with the boy."

Jimmy couldn't help but look at him, a little bemused. The hesitation there said that Castiel wasn't entirely sure what to call himself in regards to Dean's boy, but Jimmy could see the look, could see the attachment and thought that maybe Castiel  _did_  understand Jimmy just a little bit better. He watched the angel struggle with his next words and Jimmy became sure that Castiel understood.

"I wish to make this right," Cas said. "If Azrael was capable of removing you from your body, she could surely place you back in. You could go back to your family." Each word seemed torn from the throat that already suffered abuse from that harsh smoker-like voice. "I would do everything in my power to keep them safe."

Jimmy wanted to say yes. He wanted to take back his body and his life, but he knew better. "No, Cas," he said, shaking his head. "It would still put them at risk,and Amelia has moved on." It was hard as hell to get really drunk in heaven, but after Ash had given him that piece of news, Jimmy had achieved the nearly impossible. "She's remarried, Claire will be going to college in the fall and already has a boyfriend there. My life isn't on earth anymore, Cas. It moved on without me. And even if I  _did_  go back, you and I both know that I would be a target because you're a target. I accepted that I wouldn't see them again." He shook his head. "No. I have to stay here."

Cas's hands clenched and unclenched as he was obviously fighting against whatever emotions he was feeling, far more than the angel had probably ever shown in his life. Jimmy thought he saw a bit of relief, was certain he saw remorse. He took a few steps forward and extended a hand to the angel wearing his body. "It's all yours," he said as he watched an identical hand lift and stretch out to grasp Jimmy's. "Take care of the body, but you have my blessing to use it how you see fit." Because if Cas was getting the chance to experience parenthood, maybe other experiences might be on their way, and the guilt that he was seeing now would probably raise its head if he didn't give his blessing now.

He resented Cas sometimes, yes, but the same part of him that had had faith enough to accept the angel in the first place, the part of him that realized Cas had saved the world countless times, the part that knew enough from Ash's angel radio to know that the angel who was sometimes a friend to him was very special to God and heaven... that part couldn't find it in himself to stay angry. Not to mention the fact that the more human Castiel seemed to get, the greater the ramifications in heaven and the more human the other angels seemed to get.

Jimmy finished shaking the angel's hand-it was no longer his-and offered the first test of the angel's new fatherhood. "Do you have a picture of him?" He couldn't help but mirror, quite literally, the smile that spread across Castiel's face as the angel retrieved a wallet, bought just for this purpose, it seemed. The photo he retrieved was held with tender care, which only went to show how important the people on it were to him.

When Jimmy realized that the photo showed not only a green eyed baby but his hunter father, he knew he would be participating more in the daily Winchester watch-they had enough people up here who cared about them who wanted to check in on them-just to see how this turned out. Cas seemed on the verge of figuring it out, but where it would go from there, if anywhere, would be something to see.


	24. Much Needed Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are said that needed to be said, and a hunter and an angel get a quiet moment.

_The truth: It may not lead you to where you thought you were going, but it will always lead you somewhere better. When ignored, it will eventually show itself. The closeness of your relationships is directly proportional to the degree to which you have revealed the truth about yourself. It can be painful."_

_Author unknown._

Dean watched as Azrael finished her hotdog by scooping every last piece of dropped topping off the cardboard container with her white plastic fork. Even though Dean knew in the back of his mind that she wasn't technically a female, seeing a woman devour food like that was a shock for the hunter. He was only halfway through his own, but he'd gotten a late start, since he'd called Sam and Bobby to let them know what was up.

"Well, I think my job is finished," Azrael said as she stood and neatly placed her garbage in the paper bag. "You haven't done anything stupid and they should be returning Castiel any time now." She gestured to Dean's half-eaten dog. "Are you done?"

Until Dean saw his friend whole and unharmed, the amount of that hotdog that Dean  _had_  eaten was going to sit in his stomach like a lead weight. It wasn't going to get better with more in there. "I'm done." Azrael's long, slender fingers waved in the air above the Impala and instantly the food, the table cloth, all of it was gone. And Dean may have been imagining things, but he would have sworn that his Baby had just gotten a fresh coat of wax.

"I've got to ask," he said before he could think better of it, "why did you decide to stick around? Was it really because you were trying to keep me from doing something crazy?" He had noticed some kind of familiarity with this angel, or at the very least, that she liked him, which was weird enough in itself. But Dean had learned a while ago that when it came to friends, he tended to attract the weird ones.

"Well, there was that," she said, "but I must admit I find you fairly fascinating. In the grand scheme of things, you are much less powerful, even insignificant compared to other creatures and beings. Compared to other humans, as well, you hold none of the power and wealth of a normal person, no unique powers or even the intelligence of your brother. What made you special to the angels was your body's ability  _not_  to blow up the moment Michael decided to take it over, which makes you a little freakish in your genetic make-up but hardly special. Your self-loathing and sense of worthlessness should make you all but useless as a hunter, and trust me when I say that feeling of inferiority was very intentionally and well cultivated." Dean was seriously regretting asking Azrael the question, and it had only been because of that regret that Dean didn't ask just  _who_  had been doing the "cultivating."

"And yet..." Dean knew that was the angle's equivalent of a "but," and thank God there was one. "You stand up to beings from angels to Satan to Death himself. Often with some level of success." The angel offered a small smile. "You amuse me. It is why I refused to force you out of your body after you said 'yes' to Michael."

Dean's eyes widened at the thought. He  _had_  said yes. There had been conditions, including Zachariah's death, but he'd said yes. "You could have done that?"

"You would have been much less obnoxious for him, and he considered it a mercy on his part, so that he wouldn't unintentionally burn up your soul along with your mind. Not that that was ever a real possibility. You were his true vessel. You were designed, had been further hardened by hell, to take the force of Michael's Grace."

Something inside Dean clicked at that, held out hope. "Did he ask you to do that for Adam?"

The Angel of Death nodded just once. "That bright light that flooded the 'green room' wasn't Michael."

"Adam's back in heaven?" Dean asked, everything in him trying to contain the foreign feeling of hope.

"He is," she said as though talking to a very slow young child. Yeah, Dean knew she'd already said as much, but he had to hear it for himself.

Dean very nearly let out a loud whoop of joy before he realized why he had been so convinced his youngest brother was trapped in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer. "Death is a real bastard."

"Really?" Azrael said with a raised eyebrow. "I always found him rather charming."

"You would," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. "But the asshole made me choose between Adam and Sam, and I bet he knew I didn't have to."

"I think Death was intrigued by your brotherly bond."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I guess he  _would_  be curious. Like a damned scientist studying a little amoeba doing something quaint and completely out of his experience."

Azrael offered one of those faint twitches of her thin lips that Dean was coming to understand was her version of a smile. "Don't be so sure about his experience." Dean started to ask her what she meant, but before he could, she was gone. He wanted to rail about the nature of stupid angels, leaving without warning,  _especially_  when he had something he wanted to ask. He was stopped by the sound of fluttering wings.

He'd have expected it to be the Angel of Death returning, except he knew she made no sound, and those particular wings he'd just heard were as familiar to Dean as Sam's footsteps or Bobby's eau d'Old Spice 'n Whiskey. He turned around to find Cas standing near the Impala's bumper looking stunned by something that he seemed to have left behind, then suddenly surprised at where he had turned up.

The hunter rushed over to his friend and grabbed either side of his head to force the blue eyes to meet his own. "Cas," he said, examining every inch of his friend's face. "Cas, what did they do to you?"

So far, Cas hadn't pulled away, though his body had gone rigid at the contact of Dean's palms to his cheeks. The man very nearly pulled his hands away to start inspecting for injuries when out of his surprise, Cas finally muttered, "They did not harm me."

"You're sure?" Dean asked as the stiffness in Cas's body didn't lessen any and the angel's cheeks began to look a bit flushed-though under the light of a streetlamp, it was hard to tell. "You're not trying to cover for them, are you?"

The angel faintly nodded his head, causing rough stubble to scratch lightly over the heels of Dean's hands. To even the hunter's own surprise, he still hadn't released his friend's face. "I had no desire to break the promise I made you last year, Dean," he said. "When I know I need help, I will come to you." Dean wasn't entirely sure that was right, given the fact that his friend had been researching Purgatory without telling any of the hunters why, but that was a question for later.

With one more once-over of the angel's face and a good, solid look into those crazy blue eyes of his, Dean nodded, not to anything that Cas had said, but in satisfaction that his friend was there and OK, and that brought out a feeling of gratitude that very nearly overwhelmed the hunter. He remembered the asshole who had come back in Cas's place after Zachariah had tried to reprogram him. On top of the worry that Cas would be hurt by the angels for straying off the reservation was the fear that he wouldn't come back the same. They didn't have an Apocalypse to make Cas see sense and convince the angel to remain friends with Dean this time. And, really, Dean had had enough of begging Cas to go back to the way they were before back when his friend had last popped Purgatory.

And, yeah, Dean was going to ask about that soon enough, but for now, his sheer relief made him want to hug the feathery bastard.

#

Castiel had stilled when Dean had held his face. He had seen that look on the hunter before, usually when Sam was injured. It went against all of Dean's self-proscribed rules about personal space, but it was obvious that those rules never applied when someone he cared about might be injured.

The sudden rush of blood to his cheeks, the heat that he felt there made no sense to the angel. Despite his confusion over his—because he supposed it really  _was_  his now—body, Castiel still answered Dean's questions as honestly as he could. A little evasion had been necessary so not to force himself into the position of having to lie about keeping Sam's situation from Dean. But he was knew he was soon going to need to confess his attempts to research Purgatory.

He very nearly had the words out of his mouth when he felt Dean's arms around him and his own body pulled flush to the hunter's chest. He was fairly certain that he let out a noise of surprise as his chest made contact with Dean's, but he certainly didn't mind the sudden contact. This was a hug, and as far as Cas was concerned, hugs were nice.

Stiltedly, the angel brought his arms up to pat Dean's back, as Dean was doing to him, and he found his chin resting easily on the broad shoulder in front of him. The leather coat that was much too warm for this weather but still served as one of Dean's most persevering security blankets smelled of Dean—of gunpowder and the Impala, of cologne and fresh soap—and leather, naturally. Castiel wasn't even certain when he closed his eyes. All he knew was that this was better than hamburgers or pie. It made him happier, and far more content.

And he was going to ruin it all by confessing that he had been researching Purgatory. Dean would look at him the way he had several months ago. He would be hurt and resentful. He might decide that the angel would make for a bad influence on Johnny. Castiel's hands tightened in the worn leather at Dean's back just at the thought of it.

"You sure you're OK?"

"I am unharmed."

And that was when Castiel realized that Dean, from miles away, had known the angel was missing. He must have spoken to someone, Bobby perhaps. Did that mean he already knew and, even without knowing about Jimmy, it hadn't changed the way he treated the angel? He almost didn't want to hope. He wanted that to be the truth too badly.

The embrace ended as Dean held the angel at arm's length. Castiel missed the feeling of Dean's chest against his own, but he was astonished that the contact had continued, in three forms now. The hunter's hands had little trouble curling over Castiel's thinner shoulders as he once again tried to ensure that the angel would look at him. It was really very amusing, considering their history together; from the time they had properly met, eye contact had never been an issue.

"Trust me on this, Cas," Dean said. "You don't have to be bleeding to be hurt."

"I understand that, Dean," he said. "But my brethren did nothing but assure me that there had been no reason for me to research Purgatory."

And suddenly, the physical contact became a punch to the angel's shoulder. Four forms now. "About that..." he said before he brought his hand back and shook it and hissed. "Why don't I learn to stop doing that?" he said. Castiel immediately grabbed for the hunter's hand and healed it. His fingers lingered perhaps a bit longer than was necessary over the calloused fingers and palms. "Uh, thanks."

"Of course," Castiel answered.

"Now, back to Purgatory," Dean said as he pulled his hand back and lightly rubbed the knuckles. He looked at the angel with all seriousness and a frown on his face. "What the hell, Cas? Researching that place again?"

Castiel found himself having difficulty focusing on the hunter's eyes and instead turning his eyes to the ground. "I thought I had sent Jimmy there."

"What? When?"

"When I returned the souls. I did not realize right away because Jimmy had been so quiet that year."

"Think that might have been a clue that you weren't doing the right thing?"

Castiel's shoulders slumped inward. "In hindsight, yes. It should have be been a clue, but I was focused only on preventing Raphael from restarting the Apocalypse. You and Sam had sacrificed so much to try to prevent it, and I just couldn't let it happen."

"We've been over this before, Cas. What bothers me is that you didn't tell me about what you were doing. Again." The man was visibly hurt, but holding back on his anger surprisingly well, especially for Dean.

"I know." It took more effort than it should have for the angle to meet his friend's eyes. "I needed some answers, a starting point, before I spoke with you, Sam and Bobby about this. Jimmy  _was_  gone, and I did not notice for nearly a year." Castiel didn't say that he had felt ashamed by that fact. Dean should have known him and the feeling well enough by now that it could go without saying. "Purgatory was the only place I could assume he would be. Much to my relief, he is in heaven. I found him at the Roadhouse."

"Jimmy's hanging out with Ash?" Dean asked with a smirk. Yes, Castiel imagined it was amusing to think of these two people who normally would have nothing to do with one another in life on friendly terms in death.

"He is. Along with Ellen, Jo, Rufus and others that I did not have the opportunity to get to know or know of."

"My parents?" Dean asked in a way that were it not for the deep and roughened voice, could have easily been uttered by a small child.

"I did not see them, but they simply may not have been at the roadhouse. I recall you telling me that Pamela was there the last time you visited, but she was not present today."

"That's probably for the best. She's got a bit of a grudge against you." The angel nodded and frowned. He had tried to explain the consequences to her. He had never intended to hurt the woman and had tried to warn her, but he didn't imagine that his regret made the situation any better than Dean's did for bringing Pam into their world of demons and angels.

"Still, Cas, man, you should have said something," Dean said, sounding tired, yet not disappointed or angry.

"I realize that," Castiel answered. "I simply wanted to rule out even other possibility. I wanted to be certain of what I had done."

Dean nodded knowingly. "I'm going to give Sam a call, let him know everything's okay, so he can call his girlfriend with an easy conscience. Then you and I can pop over to Bobby's, let him know you're alright and let me see Johnny before he goes to bed for the night."

"You are not worried I will affect your digestive tract?" Cas questioned as Dean pulled out his phone.

"You said you'd been working on that. And I didn't have any problems when you did it last time." Dean had the phone to his ear. "Hey, Sammy... Yeah. He's back, and he's looking okay. I think all they really did just was call him up for a brotherly lecture. … Oh bite me. I do it out of love, Bitch. … He was looking up Purgatory for Jimmy, but turns out the angels hauled Jimmy to heaven, but didn't see the need to tell Cas."

That surprised the angel, since it was obvious that Dean was indignant on his behalf, rather than angry at Castiel, himself. He watched the hunter as he talked on the phone to his brother and realized that despite everything, despite even Castiel's secretive behavior, he had not lost his friend's trust. Dean really  _had_  forgiven him for his dealings with Crowley and Purgatory, and the thought of it made something within the angel's chest light.

As Dean finished up his call to Sam, the angel overheard him telling his brother that he was going to visit Johnny while he had the chance. "I've got a free taxi service here and all. I might as well take advantage of it. I'll see you later. Tell Emma that Cas and I said hello and that she better get to visiting the house before it starts looking like four bachelors and a baby live there."

He turned off his cell phone and looked up at Castiel. "Okay, man, do your stuff." The hunter closed his eyes and waited for the angel's touch, and it gave the other being pause as he considered the level of trust that was inherent in that gesture. He didn't even question that Castiel would send him where he needed to go.

Castiel placed his fingers to Dean's temple and landed them both in Bobby's foyer, but the angel suspected that the older hunter was currently seeing to the nearly inaudible crying coming from upstairs.

#

Johnny wasn't much of a crier, but from the moment the baby had woken up, he had whimpered and sobbed. No kid that age should be so damned quiet when he cried. "You're a real Winchester, suffering in silence like that," Bobby said as he held the baby to his chest and tried to calm him down.

It wasn't as though this was the first time Johnny had woken up over the last few weeks without either of his dads there—because, yeah, Cas was his dad. But this time, he seemed to know something wasn't right. Normally, he didn't cry at all, or either Sam or Bobby would be enough to settle his crying, but not now. The poor kid couldn't seem to stop.

Until, suddenly, he did.

"Bobby?" Dean's voice called from downstairs.

The older hunter looked down at Johnny. He didn't think that the boy's suddenly calm demeanor was a coincidence. "Up here!" he yelled back.

He found a pair of watery green eyes looking up at him now, and the downturned and pouting lips turned into a half-toothy smile. There was no doubt that the affection Dean obviously had for his son was 100% mutual. Bobby swiped a calloused thumb over the baby's cheeks to get the worst of the evidence of Johnny's earlier tears. He then used the tail of his shirt to catch what his thumb hadn't. As footsteps could be heard on the stairs and hallway, Johnny began bouncing happily in Bobby's arms.

"You sure do love your daddy, dontcha kid?"

The normally quiet little boy let out a squeal when he saw Dean. Instantly, his arms went into the air and his little right hand began grasping in his dad's direction. And Dean? Bobby wasn't sure the last time he saw the hunter smile so broadly and so brightly. Even Cas, who looked whole and well—thanks so much Dean for the lack of an update—offered a warm grin at the sight.

Dean held out his hands to take the boy from Bobby. The baby immediately pressed his face to Dean's shirt and let out a deep sigh. He looked up at his dad and grinned after he'd gotten a long enough snuggle.

"Guess I don't need to ask if you're happy to see me." Dean looked completely bemused by this entire situation. It was a good look when it wasn't overcast with shadows in the younger man's eyes.

Bobby looked at the two as they both doted on the little boy. "So... why did the angel brigade take you?" As much as he was glad to have Cas back and see Dean happy, he needed to know what was going on.

"I was researching Purgatory, just as you suspected. They didn't approve."

"Can't say I disagree with them." Cas looked contrite and remorseful, and yet, like a true parent, when Johnny turned to him and gave him that big, mostly gummy grin, he responded with that weird smile in return. There wasn't even hesitation, despite the fact that the guy obviously felt guilty about the whole thing. As normal, the stupid grin sent the boy into uproarious laughter. Dean, though, was giving the angel a smile that Bobby was fairly sure he recognized, just hadn't expected.

"Yeah, well, no one would have been researching anything if they'd have just let Cas know Jimmy was in heaven. They let him think he'd sent him to Purgatory." And damn if the hunter didn't sound pissed as hell on Cas's behalf. Typical Dean Winchester; a member of his family was at least a little in the wrong, but someone else's slight against them was a far bigger crime.

"That was over a year ago. You've been trying to find out all this time and you didn't say anything to us?" Bobby asked.

Even though the angel had been trying to put on a happy face for Johnny, it quickly fell. "I did not notice until a few weeks ago. Jimmy had grown angry with me last year and remained silent because, he said, I was not listening to his protests, even when he was expressing them." The angel sighed. Bobby could see that Cas regretted what had happened, so the older hunter didn't feel the need to tell him that he agreed with Jimmy. He had unleashed his anger on the angel full force more than once over the past year, and there came a time when maybe he couldn't forget what the angle had done, but he could forgive. "I did not notice the difference, not until Johnny. I was certain I would feel  _something_  from him with Johnny."

Bobby had to agree at that. If Jimmy was even mildly aware, the father surely would have felt at least regret at his own missed opportunities. That was if he wasn't amused by or offering advice to the floundering angel. "And he's been in Heaven all this time?"

"And his so-called 'family' didn't even tell him. Didn't tell me about Adam, either. He's up there too." Dean puffed his cheeks out and made a face at Johnny to lessen the harshness of his tone at those words.

"How did you learn about Adam?" Castiel asked in a way that seemed a little off if this was news to him, too.

Dean immediately picked up on it. "What's that mean?"

"I heard of Michael boasting he released Adam's soul. I could not confirm it, and Death has insinuated that Adam was still trapped in hell. It seemed to be just a rumor. I did not want to get your hopes up without something more substantive."

"Rumor or not," Dean said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably, "you tell us what's going on. You don't need to protect us. Don't be your jackhole brothers keeping the good news to themselves."

Cas nodded, and Bobby was fairly sure that he meant it as much as he would if he'd just taken a vow on a stack of Bibles.

Dean paused and looked a little sheepish. "Speaking of jackhole brothers who don't share good news... I need to call Sam." He shifted Johnny to one hip as he pulled out his phone to tell his brother about Adam. As he talked, Cas's attention was on the baby, and he ran a hand through the still-growing tuft of hair and looked at the boy with genuine affection.

Bobby wasn't surprised that the angel was so attached to the boy. He managed to find a way to enjoy all things Dean, from his family to his music to the Impala. There was no denying that Cas was easily the best friend Dean ever had. He messed up on a scale that only the Winchesters were typically capable of achieving, but Bobby knew that at the heart of it, he had done it for the two boys who had already given so much to preserve humanity's freedom. And that was why Bobby was able to forgive him, and why he found his earlier anger leaving him as quickly as it was.

Dean must have noticed Cas's movements as he was confirming Adam's spot in heaven to Sam. For the second time that night, Bobby watched something soften in Dean that he wouldn't have thought possible if he hadn't seen it for himself. The older hunter had seen that look on others before, seen it on Dean, too, but this time it was entirely focused on Castiel.


	25. Everyone Loves a Clown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam get a tour of the hall of creepy.

_"Let's all drink to the death of a clown."_

_The Kinks, Death of a Clown_

Dean couldn't remember the last time a hunt had been this easy, leg-work wise, at least. Andrea had already set up a tour of Lenko's collection and worked with Dean the night before to rig their EMF detectors to vibrate rather than beep so that they could run some tests even in Lenko's presence. She had also informed them that they would be Dean McCartney and Sam Harrison, photographer and writer, for the ezine Darkest Collectibles. She'd even created a website with fake articles and set up a time to interview the man himself. It was like having a more tech-savvy version of Bobby. With boobs.

It was kind of awesome.

Though...it made Dean wonder just who Andrea had worked with before. This very clearly wasn't her first rodeo. She was good at this and had more skill with a computer than Dean had expected. But Dean hadn't really paid attention to the fact that she worked in computer forensics prior to her husband's death at the time the hunters had been working on her case.

The very best part of all of this was, for Dean, the disappointed look on Sammy's face when he realized he wasn't going to have to do much, if any, research if this all turned out to be centered around Gacy's hat. He was here to be brawn not brain. Add to it his baby brother's whole clown thing, and Dean was pretty thoroughly enjoying himself at Sam's expense.

At the start of it all, Dean's luck had seemed to be up. He would wear black T-shirt and jeans, with a camera hanging around his neck to take photos and maintain their cover. Sam, however, was a little deeper under cover. He had a digital recorder, which wasn't so abnormal in itself, and that had its own benefits. That provided the added bonus of picking up any supernatural or otherworldly sounds. Sam's clothes had been more carefully crafted to give the impression of a creative type with a slightly dark view of the world. When Andrea had finished the look with a pair of black-rimmed hipster glasses, Dean had lost it, telling his brother to embrace his inner goth hipster.

Andrea seemed to have a soft spot in her heart for Sam as much as Dean. The small and seemingly timid young woman decided that it was only fair that Dean look as prissy as his brother. After much protesting from Dean and Sam literally holding his brother down, the older hunter found his black T-shirt was only the icing on the too-old goth cake. He was now stuck wearing black nail polish and—the greatest of all their crimes—black eyeliner. They had even used a liberal amount of gel on his hair to finish the look.

"And it's waterproof," Andrea had said when Dean had stared at the black make-up. "So don't even bother."

"I'm 33 years old. I'm too damned old to be walking around like some teenaged emo kid." Dean glanced into the rearview mirror in his baby. "Dude. It's like a chick is looking back at me in the mirror. This just isn't right."

Sam laughed as he toyed with the digital recorder. "So Dean, tell me..." He held the recorder up to Dean's general direction and asked vaguely in tune to the old song, "Do you feel pretty? Oh so pretty?"

"I feel like I might murder you if you keep this up."

Dean heard his brother humming that damned song under his breath, and if he didn't love the Impala so much, he thought he might go ahead and slam her into the nearest tree rather than endure more of the gigantor's off-key singing. Driving through the little suburban streets, Dean had thought there might be something about Mr. Creepy's house that would set it apart, but the reddish siding and white shutters looked as all-American as the other homes on the street. It was, perhaps, a bit bigger than some of the other McMansions around it.

He considered snooping around the house and glancing in the windows for anything worthwhile, but they had no sooner exited the Impala when a guy who looked like he was ready to answer a casting call for Gomez Addams stepped out the front door. The dude actually had a red smoking jacket and seriously embodied the whole spooky thing. Someone, it seemed, had watched a few too many episodes of the Addams family and fate just hadn't been able to decide whether he should more resemble uncle fester or Gomez. He was a little round, a little sweaty and his hair was black and plastered to his head with some kind of hair product.

"Ah!" he said excitedly. "Mr. McCartney and Harrison!" He quickly approached them both and shook their hands. Dean very nearly cut himself on one of the multiple rings the guy wore on his fingers. Lenko moved to Sam, who had been fiddling with his phone for one reason or another, probably to make sure it wasn't in the same pocket as his modified EMF reader. "I'm so happy to have you tour my collection. Naturally, I will give you full access, though there are a few items I would ask your discretion about publishing."

"Great," Dean muttered to Sam as Lenko led them into the house. "He's like a cross between Edgar Allan Poe and Liberache." The hunters followed Mr. Lenko into his house, and even if Dean still thought Lucas had been on the right track with Gacy's hat, it was very clear that this house had a few dozen potential pitfalls waiting for them.

"Wait," Dean said, "is that the headlight to Ferdinand's Graf & Stift Double Phaeton?" Dean wasn't usually a history buff, but he knew his cars, and when a car plays a role in the start of the first ever world war, he pays attention. He'll be more attentive when he knows the car is supposedly as cursed as Little Bastard. "And isn't it supposedly in a museum in Vienna?"

Lenko nodded. "This is one of the items I'd rather not have promoted. It was taken during World War II, but you know how museums can be about artifacts, even if they've been gone for decades."

Walking through the foyer, Dean could see a well used copy of The White Album-which made him seriously hope that Lenko didn't piece together his and Sam's aliases-next to a nightie labeled Sharon Tate and a gold record of one of the Beach Boys' albums. "These are my Charles Manson collection."

Dean saw the man looking at him expectantly, and realized these items were apparently on the acceptable list. The hunter reacted appropriately and took a photo.

"Do you worry people will be offended that you've kept these items and created a sort of museum to the macabre?" Sam asked into the recorder before holding it out to Lenko. If they weren't under such close scrutiny, and if Dean wasn't wearing enough eye make-up to land himself with groupies for Alice Cooper, he might have made fun of his brother for the use of the word "macabre." Hell, Dean wasn't sure he could spell it without a lot of thought, what with its stupid silent French letters. But Dean was painfully aware of what teasing Sam would earn him every time his painted nails came into view.

"Let them. People have all sorts of interests. For some, it's hunting. For others, it's professional sports. There's something grotesque to both of those, but they do not receive the same criticism. These are my interests, and I know they intrigue others, too. It is why I have so many people asking to tour my home. Well, that and the local connection."

"The clown hat that belonged to John Wayne Gacy?" Sam asked, and Dean was fairly impressed by how steady his younger brother had kept his voice, considering he was asking a question about a serial killer and a clown in one sentence.

"Yes. It is in the library with some of my other most prized possessions." The man stood to the side of one of the doorways and indicated for Sam and Dean to step inside. It was only as they passed that Dean caught sight of the man checking out his ass. It took all he had not to shudder before Lenko's attention was focused somewhere else. Normally, Dean just shrugged off things like that by being flattered and moving on, but the guy was a little, greasy fifty-something toad, and that wasn't so easy to shrug off.

Dean was just a little nauseated.

So far, Sam hadn't noticed the added attention on his brother, and for that, Dean was grateful, but at least this time when it was possible that yet another person had assumed he was gay (though it was possible that Lenko was just checking out the merchandise; it was top shelf after all), he could blame it on his brother helping to make him look like a painted whore.

"Now, here is the piece de resistance, at least for curious locals." Dean got very close to the hat, close enough that his rigged up EMF sensor should have been vibrating the crap out of his pocket. It hadn't in the house at all, which made him wonder if the modifications had broken it. Dean took a few photos and then glanced up at Sam, who was shrugging his shoulders. His, apparently, wasn't going off, either.

Dean glanced around the library. Surely  _something_  in this hall of horror should be setting off their EMF. There was a wealth for the spiritual world to choose from: a board from Ted Bundy's utility room, a document signed by John Wilkes Booth, a slug from Bonnie and Clyde's car, a plant the hunter couldn't identify that was taken from a clipping of something from the Myrtles plantation, and... a guitar.

Despite himself, Dean was drawn to the thing. It was an old style, but Dean didn't know enough about the instrument other than to know it was an acoustic and a weird style. It was very old school design, but looked brand new. He might have assumed this thing was a remake, but he knew in his gut that it wasn't. It had been given a position in the center of the room that indicated it was very important, and yet, it wasn't even in a case, glass or otherwise. It wouldn't take much for the hunter to just touch it.

"I see you've found my own personal favorite." Lenko grinned. "Robert Johnson's guitar." Dean's eyes widened and he quickly yanked his hand back from its position halfway to touching the thing. "I assume you know the story about Robert Johnson and the crossroads devil?"

"Way too well," Dean said. And even knowing, being certain that this guitar was really bad news, he had trouble fighting an almost compulsive need to touch the thing. The feeling reminded Dean of the ballet shoes.

_Fuck._

Dean wondered if the newly demonic Bela was behind this one, too. The best that Dean could guess, she was once again dealing in creepy objects, mostly cursed, and watching the havoc that erupted as she counted her money. This guy was probably her wet dream and—depending on whether she was in a male or female meat suit—his as well.

Sudden flashes of high school, being 14 and getting lessons from Pastor Jim popped into his head. Pastor Jim's guitar had been nothing like this one, and a very encouraging little voice was reminding him repeatedly of that fact.

He forced himself to look up at his brother to find the gigantor staring at him oddly. Apparently, it wasn't bothering him at all. Kind of like the ballet shoes.

"Do you have the  _box_... or case that it came in?" he asked, trying to get across to Sam just what he thought the problem was.

Thank God for Sammy's big brain, because he immediately picked up on Dean's meaning and was now giving him a look as though assessing if Dean was all right. He didn't know if that was because of the crossroads connection or because of the man's previous experience with cursed objects.

"I do somewhere. Just managed to get it out, too. It cost me a fortune to get it done. It must have had a few dozen locks and seals on it. But it was worth it. I kept the box, though. It was very unique, and I've heard that some people believe those boxes keep out curses." He smiled at the hunters. "And considering the rumors around this particular instrument, it isn't much of a surprise."

Dean was still trying to resist the urge to touch the guitar as he watched Lenko pick it off the stand and damned near stroke the thing. "They say that in just touching this guitar, a person marks himself as a target for the beasts of hell, and by midnight the monsters will rip a victim to shreds."

Dean looked to Sam. The attacks seemed to match this story much more than Gacy's ghost. Hellhounds would cause the destruction described, but wouldn't care about taking the victim's heart. But just the knowledge for what he would be dealing with brought back enough memories to nearly get a visceral reaction. Unfortunately, while he was hiding it well enough from Lenko, it was obvious that, by the look Sam was giving him, his younger brother was going to want to talk about it.

And probably cry and hug, too.

The look Lenko was giving him was he moved a hand up the neck of the guitar was something else altogether. Dean could not suppress his shudder this time. "Creepy," he said, hoping the pervert thought he was talking about the guitar.

"Hard to imagine a strong guy like you afraid of a little curse."

_Yeah, the curse._

"Strong or not," Dean said, "I don't think I'd stand much of a chance against beasts from Hell." No, he already knew how well he stood up against them, and nothing a person could try ever did any good if they were marked as the Hellhounds' chew toy. But he  _still_  was drawn to the damned guitar; twice now since he'd found out what it was, he'd caught his hand trying to seek it out. Then he'd have until midnight—just six hours—to torch the thing. Otherwise, he'd be puppy chow all over again. And heaven had finished with him, so there'd be no angelic rescue form wherever he ended up.

Though, well, there  _was_ Cas.

But Cas alone might not even survive, which was a horrific thought he didn't want to consider. Instead, he liked to focus on the idea that the angel  _would_  reach him very much  _alive_. He just knew that would take time before his angel could pull him out of the Pit again. What he also knew was that he couldn't spend the time down there again and be brought back one more time. What would come back wouldn't be him anymore. He'd barely managed to piece himself back the last time, and he knew that it wouldn't take 30 years to break him a second time. Like a junkie let loose in a pharmacy after dark, he'd sink back to his addiction quicker than Sammy had started itching for demon blood.

Before he could do something stupid, Dean felt his phone ringing in his pocket. Though he'd initially been planning on pretending his phone was ringing so that he could call Bobby, someone was solving that problem for him. He had a sneaking suspicion it was the older hunter. The escape from the freaky man's watchful gaze certainly was a plus in Dean's book. "I should take this," he said, doing his very bet to look apologetic. Sam looked curious, though Dean assumed that his kid brother hadn't yet figured out that the phone  _actually_  was ringing. The little man looked disappointed. "I'm really very sorry. I will make it quick." He repressed the urge to full-body convulse at the man's pleased wink until he was out the front door.

As soon as he turned on his phone, he answered, "Hey, Bobby." He stood on the front porch of the creepy old house and watched out over the yard for the signs of anything  _else_  weird.

"Hey," Bobby said. Then, his voice got quieter, obviously calling to someone else in the room. "He picked up. You can relax now."

"He is uninjured?" Cas's voice asked.

"You hurt?"

"I'm fine," Dean replied, caught somewhere between amused at Cas and irritated that the angel had been tapping into his head... again.

"He ain't hurt," Bobby told Cas before speaking into the phone again. "Want to tell me what's got his feathers in a bunch?"

"Robert Johnson's guitar. Or at least, my reaction to it."

"Want to repeat that?"

"Gacy's hat is here, but it isn't the problem. According to the guy who owns all these creepy ass things, the guitar is cursed. Anyone who touches it becomes a hellhound chew toy." He heard Bobby swear softly, and he realized Johnny must have been in the room with him. He had to give him credit for the fact that the older hunter was managing to keep his language in check. Dean wasn't so sure he'd do as well. "The thing about it is..." Dean said. "Mr. Freaky has no problem touching it."

_Or stroking it while looking at me._ Dean let out all of the shudders that he'd been holding in. It was going to take some time to get that image out of his brain.

"So you're going to need someone to research." And then, Dean swore he heard a petulant tone creep into Bobby's voice. "Why don't you get the woman or her boy to check on it for you?"

Aww," Dean said with a grin, "Bobby's feeling left out. You know no one can replace you."

"Shut up, you idjit. I'll see what Cas and I can find."

"Thanks Bobby. See why it affects some people more than others, too."

"What do you mean 'affects' someone?"

"I may or may not find myself trying to touch it."

"Like the ballet shoes, then?"

"Does  _everyone_  know about that?" He was going to kill his brother. He was going to do it slowly, painfully. Then he was going to get Cas to drag him back so he could do it all over again.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Twinkle Toes. But you can't blame him, really. You'd have broadcast it on billboards if the situation would have been reversed."

"Well, yeah, but that's me. I thought Sammy was supposed to be more evolved or some crap like that."

"Guess he's still got enough of your genes to be an asshole one in a while."

"Bite me, Bobby," Dean said. "And watch your language around my son.

#

Being both relieved and worried was an unusual sensation, but that was where Sam was at the moment, all the while he was trying to pretend he was absolutely fascinated in the weird and messed-up collection that filled Mr. Lenko's suburban home. Sam couldn't begin to express how happy he was to realize that they weren't going to be going up against John Wayne Gacy's killer-clown ghost. There really weren't words for how awesome that fact was. The problems with his relief, though, were Dean and that guitar.

While they had been in the room with the thing, Dean had very nearly touched it multiple times. Sam had actually thought he might need to physically pull him away. And though Dean obviously seemed to hope that the younger brother had failed to notice a few things since they arrived at the house, Sam hadn't been totally oblivious.

Oscar, as he insisted Sam call him, had been eying Dean up like he was a piece of meat, and he might have done the same to Sam, except Sam had very purposely had his phone out when they'd arrived and very deliberately had a picture of Emma on the screen within Oscar's view. Every so often, he got a look from the man, but it was nothing compared to the way he looked at Dean. But, considering that Sam and Andrea had more or less forced him into his made-up, gelled alter-ego, it wasn't surprising Dean was getting attention he typically didn't attract.

Sam had also noticed his brother's reaction to the details of the guitar's curse. Back when he had been under Ruby's influence, Sam had been critical of his brother and completely lacked any understanding of what he had been through. As he realized now the reality of what his brother had suffered, in part due to maturity and a clear head and in part due to his own vaguely recalled experiences, Sam knew that he had been quite possibly the world's biggest asshole. He'd been judgmental because his brother, whose obvious PTSD had him so messed up he needed a steady dose of alcohol just to function, hadn't been able to just jump right back into the hunt. He was no better than the old WWI sergeants who would toss a shell-shocked private back on the front line and then court martial or kill the kid for his inevitable panic or desertion.

The look on Dean's face any time he remembered Hell or relive the moments of that horrific death, that had been the expression that spread across his features the moment Oscar told them about the curse. Sam knew Dean would never willingly talk to him about it, but he could keep a closer eye on the older hunter, and if things got truly bad, he would force Dean to talk, either to him or to Cas—it was rare, but on occasion, when the memories of Hell or his guilt were too strong, the angel seemed capable of getting through to the hunter. Sam assumed it was because Cas had been witness to what Dean became in the Pit. What he knew for certain was that Cas was the only person who could utter the words, "you're not to blame" or "you have long-since been forgiven" and actually cause Dean's shoulders to sag just a little less.

He was so glad to see Dean get some relief from his guilt that Sam couldn't even feel left out.

"So when did you begin this rare collection?" Sam asked as the man led him to a painting done by Adolf Hitler.

"About seven years ago. This was actually my first piece." Oscar turned his attention to the painting and smiled whistfully. "Imagine if Hitler had been a more popular painter. Or a better one." He smiled, but the squat little man in the red smoking jacket practically lit up when Dean came back into the house. Sam watched as Dean's left eye twitched as he fell under the strange man's gaze.

It was fairly obvious that what was going to be Sam's worst nightmare was quickly turning into Dean's. And they hadn't even dealt with the guitar yet.


	26. Thoughts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea knew more than she let on, and finally she tells the brothers.

_Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd/ Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow/ Raze out the written troubles of the brain/ And, with some sweet oblivious antidote/ Cleans the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff/ Which weighs upon the heart?_

_William Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra_

"I feel like I need a shower," Dean said as they stepped back into Andrea's house. He knew he couldn't wash Lenko's leers off of him, but it would sure as hell make him feel better.

"You'll have to wait," Alan said from the kitchen doorway. "Andrea's giving Dana a bath." The man offered a small, apologetic smile.

Dean caught a glance at the clock on the wall. 8 p.m. It was probably a good time to catch Johnny before bed. "Alan, do you think it would be any problem for me to get on the computer for a video call?"

Alan smiled and shook his head. "You'll be fine. Trust me."

Dean nodded and slipped upstairs into Sam's bedroom to snag his brother's computer. Though Dean's had a webcam, the computer was older and had taken more of a beating than Sam's.  _When_  the camera worked, the picture generally sucked ass, and he wanted Johnny to see him as clearly as possible.

Deciding it was best to do this down in the office, which had become his temporary room in the suburban home, Dean carried the shiny, metallic computer carefully down the steps. He was so cautious with it that even Sammy would have been impressed. As he got the computer set-up, he gave Bobby a quick phone call to let him know he'd be using the video chat in a few moments.

He heard the familiar tones of the web chat screen loading and then trying to contact someone at Bobby's house. He could hear before he could see Cas clearing his throat, so he waited for the connection to show two clear screens of both those at Bobby's house and Dean in Illinois. It took a moment for the large black box on the screen to fill with an image of Cas and Johnny, but his focus had been so intent on waiting for the first sign of strawberry blond hair or unblinking blue eyes that Dean hadn't paid attention to his own little corner of the screen.

"Dean...?" Cas asked with a tilt of his head. "You look different."

That was when Dean remembered the damned make-up, and he was about to explain how mistreated he'd been when Johnny's little head tilted to the side and his expression turned critical at the man on the screen in front of him. At the miniature mirror image of the angel, Dean burst out laughing. "You can tell he's been spending his time with you." Cas tilted his head down to see Johnny's expression in the miniature image on their screen. The angel's lips quirked upward and transformed into a barely there smile. For once, Cas wasn't questioning whether or not Dean thought this was a good thing or feared he was taking something precious away from Dean by being there when he couldn't. Instead, he just looked incredibly pleased, for Cas at least, that Johnny had picked up a habit from him.

Dean smirked. "Well, as long as the kid doesn't start trying to disappear or fly, we'll be good." Johnny's lips spread into a small smile as he heard more of his father's voice and apparently realized that the make-up was just paint. Dean waved at his son.

"It appears Bobby did get the camera angled correctly. You  _can_  see Johnny?"

Dean nodded as Bobby griped in the background about not being a total idiot when it came to technology, "unlike some winged idjits."

"Has he found anything yet?" Dean asked as he watched the baby bounce on Cas's knee and tried to resist the urge to ask the angel to take him home to be with his boy before he went to sleep. He was going to have to get used to being away sometimes.

"Nothing conclusive, but he's still looking." Cas adjusted the now-giggling boy on his knee. "I think he is amused by your eye make-up. Is there a reason I'm unaware of that makes wearing that black paint more useful during a hunt?"

"It's all Sam and Andrea's fault. Apparently, I needed to look the part of someone who would be interested in Lenko's crazy collection."

"And this required a different hairstyle and eye make-up?"

"And painted nails," Dean said, showing the black digits, "apparently."

"This I've got to see," Bobby's voice said from wherever he'd been sitting. Dean saw the older hunter's face appear partly in front of the camera. In response, he scowled and showed him just two of his painted fingers. Two very select ones. It didn't stop Bobby from laughing and then admonishing Dean for the two finger salute with his son watching.

Johnny, naturally, had no idea what was going on, but his Daddy was laughing, Cas was chuckling, and his grandpa was guffawing. That seemed to be enough to make the boy erupt in belly laughs.

"Have you found anything yet, Bobby?"

"Well, considering it's only been  _two hours_  since you told me what the problem was, no. Not much. Though the curse of Robert Johnson's fate is supposed to be tied to one of two of his guitars. According to legend, it's either the guitar he was playing the night he died or the one with him in the most famous photographs of the man."

"I don't really care  _which_ one it is. I just know that the cursed guitar is the one I saw," Dean said.

"Yeah, well, the story of the curse is a little different depending on which guitar it is, Smartass." Dean knew his son didn't stand a chance. He was already envisioning Johnny's kindergarten teacher explaining to Dean that his son used very inappropriate language—oh, and the kid thought monsters were real.

"Well, what's the difference, Old Man?" Dean kept his mind on the conversation with Bobby and not on flowery pictures of the future that involved him sitting in a little half-chair in Johnny's future classroom, listening to some hot twenty-something woman who just  _won't_  stop flirting with him—this is  _his_  fantasy after all—explain that overall, Johnny's a good kid, just needs to keep his imagination and mouth in line.

"If the guitar is the one he was photographed with, the midnight rule is accurate. If it's the one he played the day he died, the person who touches it only has a matter of hours, and no one seems to agree on how many." Bobby gave Dean a pointed look that essentially told him not to cut him off and to try to be a little less obnoxious.

The look had little effect since the younger hunter was focused more on the consequences, but he successfully hid the cursing that followed at that prospect. He was prepared to ask more questions of his surrogate father when he watched as his son raised his right hand and left arm to his face and hid his eyes behind them. Apparently the serious conversation was cutting into his Daddy time and he was determined to get attention. It was a remarkable change from the little boy who was satisfied to cling onto any crumb of affection he could get. Already unable to deny Johnny anything, Dean quickly placed his own hands at his eyes and gave his boy a "Peekaboo" when they both revealed themselves.

"I'll get everyone here looking into it, too." Dean said before playing another round of Peekaboo with his son. This wasn't exactly all business at the moment, but this call wasn't supposed to be about business anyway. It was supposed to be his chance to see his boy before bed. "Hopefully we can get this all settled quickly."

Johnny tilted his head back so that he was looking at Cas as well. His hands went to his face, and he waited until he felt and half-saw Cas do the same. The angel looked mildly panicked for a moment before he lifted one hand to his eyes and uttered the obligatory. "Peekaboo." Johnny giggled and Dean watched as the baby instantly pressed his cheek to Cas's shirt. It gave Dean a clear view of the fact that once again, the angel was down to just his white dress shirt, which the man knew was only for a sense of normalcy; Dean had been reminded repeatedly over the years that Cas didn't actually experience excess heat from the suit and trenchcoat combo.

The angel was trying as hard as Dean to give Johnny a normal childhood, whether it meant dressing for appearances or playing a game of Peekaboo.

#

"Dean, I have the makeup and nail polish remover—" Andrea quickly stopped herself as she saw the hunter on the computer. She placed her hand over her mouth and gave him an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said in a hushed voice.

"No worries," Dean said. "Though I still owe you big time for doing this to me." She gave a soft laugh and moved to Dean's side to set the cottonballs and removers on the futon at Dean's side. "Come over here into the screen. There are some people I'd like you to meet."

Andrea glanced at the computer to see a baby with reddish blond hair and wide green eyes trying to encourage his father to participate in another game of peekaboo. She saw the little boy's arm and felt something twist in her chest at the sight, but there was no doubt that Dean was a very good father for the little boy. It was fairly obvious from the pride in the man's voice that he didn't care that the little boy had either been born without or had lost his left hand, and she wouldn't have expected him to.

"That must be Johnny," she said with a grin. She looked to the man behind the little boy and realized that the descriptions in the books were far more accurate than her own imagination. This was obviously Castiel, angel of the Lord, but he looked like an ordinary man. He was good-looking, though differently so from someone like Dean, who was a bit more Hollywood handsome, and his eyes were a remarkable blue, which was clear even on the webcam. He had a thin frame and looked every bit the holy accountant described in the Supernatural books. And though she had read them and should have been expecting it, Andrea could not wrap her mind around the fact that he looked so very human. "And you must be Cas."

The rough-voiced man on the screen confirmed her suspicion and said that he was very glad to meet her, but she couldn't help but notice that Dean was now eying her strangely. She immediately realized her mistake. The hunter hadn't mentioned the angel once while he'd been at the house. She was fairly sure he hadn't even done so in passing, which meant there was no reason for Andrea to know who Castiel was. Even the average hunter, the ones that hadn't started out because of Dean and Sam saving their lives or hadn't discovered those books, didn't really know about Cas; the few that did only spoke of him as the weird guy that tagged around with the Winchesters.

"You are to blame for the black paint around his eyes," Castiel said.

"Yes I am," she said, trying to focus on her conversation with the angel rather than Dean's nearly palpable suspicion.

Andrea waved and made faces at the baby on the screen and did her very best to ignore how badly she had just screwed up. She had planned to explain after the case was over that she had been reading the Supernatural novels and knew aspects of Dean's life, Sam's as well, that he probably didn't want her to. It had to be awkward for the brothers to know that perfect strangers knew of some pretty intimate details of their lives. She could only imagine their reaction if they, or when they, realized the people they had saved read the books, too.

Dean proceeded to tell his son goodnight, but it was obvious to Andrea that he was distracted, and it was just as plain that he wanted her to stay so she could answer some questions. He very carefully closed the computer and set it to the side. It was almost as though he was moving his brother's prized toy out of the line of fire. She could only be grateful that he wasn't reaching for the nearest vial of holy water, though she thought she saw him eying up the letter opener on the desk.

"So, funny thing... I didn't mention Cas before. Neither did Sam. How exactly did you not only know about him, but knew him well enough that you almost seemed to recognize him?"

"I've been reading the Supernatural books." Dean looked confused. "By Carver Edlund?" When he still hadn't changed his expression, she tried, "Chuck Shurley?"

"I know the books, but last I checked, they didn't include Cas."

"They got a new run," Andrea said.

"And Chuck disappeared two years ago."

"The books continue to about a year and a half ago," Andrea said, watching the war of emotions in the man's eyes, even as every other part of his face tried to hold him back. "It's why I was uneasy with Sam at first. The most recent book had him watching on as you were bitten by a vampire."

"And if the books say that much about him, I bet they're not giving the most flattering description of me."

"You don't come out so bad, actually," Andrea said with a small, sympathetic smile. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gently rubbed at his collarbone with her thumb. "Only enough to let people understand that you are a stronger man than most."

Dean's jaw clenched a moment before he finally spoke. "You're talking about Hell?" She gave a sad nod. "Do you have  _any_  idea what this 'stronger man' did there?"

"After surviving for thirty years, going through horrible pain over and over, you took your chance at the one thing that offered you relief from the torture," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder and was pleased when it wasn't shaken away. "And you have spent the last four years-I'm guessing at the year and a half not included in the books-regretting it. And you're still here, fighting, saving people." She bent down and kissed him on the forehead like she would if he were her younger brother. "It would have broken a lesser man beyond repair."

That kiss and her final words seemed to undo him, and it looked as though he was losing the battle he'd been fighting against his internal turmoil. She knew he wouldn't want her to see. "I'll just... I'll go." He nodded numbly as she backed out of the doorway.

#

Johnny was asleep; he had gone to bed just a few moments ago. As he stood in the baby's nursery, Castiel found himself still smiling. The baby had picked up on one of his mannerisms, and it was probably the first of many that Johnny would acquire as he spent more time in the angel's care. It really shouldn't have been surprising since every book on child development told him this was common, but Castiel knew he was the first angel to get to experience a baby mimicking him because he was shaping what that child viewed as "normal" behavior.

He quietly slipped out of the room when something at his core told him that something was wrong with Dean. He had sensed some discomfort, some of the underlying guilt that happened whenever Dean thought about his time in Hell. Though it troubled Castiel, he knew better than to interrupt at moments like this. Dean never reacted well when he did. That fact had been the only thing that had kept him at Bobby's house earlier that evening when Dean had encountered the cursed guitar.

Cas could sense something similar coming from Sam moments later. He was not as attuned to the younger brother to be able to recognize just what was troubling Sam. He only barely understood from his previous experience what was bothering Dean.

Something had happened, though the angel couldn't guess what, to upset both brothers, and there was no justifiable reason he could find for why he should not go to see that they were unharmed. Yet he knew that both would rebuke any efforts—pathetic as they would surely be—on the angel's part to ask after their well being, and only Sam would appreciate the attempt. Dean had asked the angel to observe him as would be necessary to keep Johnny safe. Castiel doubted the hunter had any idea how difficult it was for his friend not to interfere when he realized something was wrong, Johnny or not.

Then Dean provided him with opportunity to help. The hunter had injured himself. It was not necessarily a severe injury, but it was, at the very least, something the angel could assist with and justify expressing a little concern for his friend. To the hunter, Castiel's worry would appear stilted and awkward at best, but it was at least genuine.

Quickly, the angel flew from Bobby's home to land back to earth in this plane at Dean's side. The hunter started, but after just a moment or two, he was again holding his eye and swearing.

Castiel found it quite surprising how different a bit of make-up and a change in how Dean's hair was styled could so alter his appearance. He had thought so when he had seen him on the computer screen, and it was no different in person. On the computer, the black-rimmed eyes had drawn the angel's attention to the green orbs, not that he had ever really had any trouble focusing on them. Honestly, he could not find the appeal in trying to add or take away to Dean's appearance with some black paint. Castiel might not have been human, but he was very well aware that Dean was a handsome man according to human standards, and he felt there was no more of a need to emphasize the man's eyes than there was to cover his freckles.

There was no need to, nor had the inky color succeeded to, improve upon the original. At best, the make-up merely drew the observer's attention to one of Dean's nicer features.

Now that the make-up seemed to be the source of Dean's pain, Castiel found he liked it even less than before. Stepping in close, the angel pressed his fingers to Dean's temple and took away the chemically caused irritation. The hunter looked immediately relieved. "I grabbed the wrong stuff. Apparently you do  _not_  use nail polish remover on your eyes."

"You are lucky you did not do more damage," Castiel said as he retrieved the bottle with the pink eye on the front and one of the cotton balls.

"What're you doing? I can do it."

"You are clearly too agitated," the angel said and he poured a small amount of the clearish liquid onto the white cotton. "Something happened that upset you."

"I ain't having this conversation, Dr. Phil," Dean said, leaning back as the angel moved his hand closer to his face.

"I hardly resemble a bald, Texan, TV psychiatrist."

Dean looked uneasy. "You said you, not your vessel."

Castiel met the eyes that, despite his efforts to stop the pain were a bit pink and watery, and placed the hand not holding the soggy piece of cotton at the back of Dean's head. "Jimmy told me that this body was mine now, so I may as well treat it as such."

"Right," Dean said, closing his eyes when he seemed to realize there was no way he was breaking free of the angel's strong hold on him, though he wasn't done trying to change the subject. "Then you and I can go to a brothel and pop your cherry without the guilt."

"No," Castiel said, letting more of his frustration show through than he had intended to do. That last attempt had been an utter disaster, and the angel had no desire to relive it. Cas couldn't help but snap at the reminder, not to mention that Dean was attempting to mask his troubles with his usual proficiency.

After the painful experience he had just undergone, Dean instinctively flinched when the cool liquid on the cotton touched his eye, but Castiel was careful as he swiped gently over first one eye and then the other. The substance that Andrea had provided for this purpose seemed to have done well, and thankfully, it was not causing Dean pain. "Much better than last time," the hunter said.

Castiel was careful, moving the cotton two, three times over each of the man's eyelids. That had been an aspect of human design he had never quite understood. It was clear just how vital eyesight was to humans, especially in the earliest days of their evolution when God was still waiting to see which of his earthbound creations would finally rise to the top. (At least, it had seemed that way. The angels who had taken hypothetical bets on Neanderthal or the humans had never really anticipated there to be a little co-mingling of the two, and most hadn't assumed that despite some muddied DNA, the humans would rise as the victors.) This thin, barely there piece of skin protecting such a vital organ seemed to be an almost fatal flaw, but as Castiel watched the eyes beneath flicker, muscles twitch, and lashes flutter, he could appreciate the appeal of something so delicate.

"I do not believe ethyl acetate was designed for use on the eyes," Castiel said as he cleaned the last of the stuff from Dean's right lid. The hunter remained tense as Castiel swiped the cotton ball over the man's other eye. "You were upset about something. Otherwise, you would not have made such a mistake." Dean's eyes didn't open, but his brows furrowed.

"That's twice today you've poked around in my head."

Castiel gently swiped his thumbs over the man's eyelids to remove any remaining liquid. For some reason, Dean's breath hitched, but considering his earlier experience with the nail polish remover, the angel was not shocked that his instincts still had him wary. "You asked me to monitor you for Johnny's sake."

"I don't know if you noticed, but Johnny's not here." Dean's left eye opened a tiny crack. "Are you done?"

Castiel nodded and moved his hand from the back of Dean's head. "You seem to assume that monitoring you is something I can switch on and off like a light. It takes time to get so strong of a connection, and it takes far longer to pull back."

Dean cleared his throat, and the angel could feel the man's breath warm against his face. "Speaking of pulling back..." the man said as his green eyes flitted over Castiel's face. "I think we had this talk before about personal space."

Taking a step away from his friend, this time the angel did not apologize as he usually had before. "Why is it that I am always the one who must move?" he asked, instead. "You could, as well." He knew, though, that Dean hated to be perceived as backing down. Even from a friend.

"You're usually the one doing the invading of my personal space. Only fair you should have to retreat. Like Germany." The hunter rubbed at his eyes. "Thanks, though. That stuff hurt like a son of a bitch."

Castiel inclined his head in acknowledgment of his friend's thanks.

"Guess I'm going to have to get used to you being able to pop up at any random time, at least until Johnny's at an age where he isn't hanging around so much or I'm so old I can't keep up."

"By then," Castiel said, "it will be next to impossible for me to get out of your head, as you put it." The angel crossed his arms in a matter he had often seen dean and Sam do when they were trying to get someone, usually one another, to talk. "It is why I can tell you are still troubled about something." Dean eyed him with irritation. To prove the point that he wouldn't be leaving, he took a seat on the bed-couch contraption that seemed to have served as Dean's bed.

"I don't know who you think you're dealing with here, Cas, but I don't  _do_  heart to heart chats."

"You protest, and grouse, and grumble, but eventually, yes, you do." The angel paused and decided he might as well use a low blow to try to get his friend to talk. "Something is causing you pain and bothering Sam as well."

"Sam?" Dean asked, looking confused. "But how would-Andrea must have confessed the same thing to him."

"'Confessed'?" the angel asked with a tilt of his head.

"Andrea has been reading the books, which Chuck is apparently publishing again." The hunter ran his hand over his face. "She knew who you were. That's how I realized. Then, she said the books are caught up to about the end of 2010. It's why she was weird about Sam. She's caught up to when he didn't have his soul."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and muttered out a "Shit!" before turning toward the closed office door. "If she's told him, no wonder he's a mess."

The angel quickly stood and wrapped a hand around Dean's wrist. "I did not say he was a mess. I said he is bothered. And you will do your brother little good while you are trying to deal with your own emotions. I believe he realizes the same and is trying to process this information before he speaks with you. It would be wise of you to do likewise."

Dean frowned, but he stayed. That was a start.

#

When Sam came back from the kitchen with a piece of pizza-homemade; that Alan was a genius in the kitchen-he saw Andrea leaving the office with a worried look on her face.

"Andrea? Is something wrong?"

She looked up at him apologetically. "I let your brother know something I had planned to tell both of you after you were done with this hunt. I was afraid it would cause problems with your focus." She paused, wringing her hands together as she looked down from Sam's face to the floor. "I found the Supernatural books and have been reading them."

Sam smiled, trying to ease her mind. He wasn't thrilled about the intrusion into his privacy, but that was hardly her fault. She tracked them the only way that he knew how, and the books were ready-made for her to do it. "Please tell me you aren't a Dean slash Sam fan."

She turned bright red at that and shook her head. "That would be unbelievably weird."

"You're telling me. Brotherly love only goes so far." He took a bite of pizza and tried not to moan at how good it was, though Dean would probably have bitched about the number of veggies in comparison to meat that topped it.

"That wasn't the problem, though." Here is where Andrea quite possibly looked her guiltiest. "The books resumed printing. The most recent one involved vampires." She was looking at him as though that should have rung some bells, but it wasn't. He frowned as she said the next sentence. "Dean was turned." Chuck wasn't allowed to elaborate on the truth or invent new tales, if he was even the one doing the writing. For all Sam knew, it was Becky at the helm now that Chuck had vanished, and he could imagine her trying to cash in on the Twilight craze. He honestly hoped it was Becky who was doing the writing. At least then he might be able to pretend that what Andrea was saying hadn't happened.

"Andrea, are you sure the same author is writing these? Because, I think you can see, Dean's not a vampire."

"The style hasn't changed," she said. "And Dean wouldn't be. There was a cure. Sam Campbell had it."

Sam's eyes widened. His grandfather, who had abandoned them to Crowley's devices, had at one time saved Dean. Sam was having a hard time reconciling the many sides of the man whose name he'd inherited. Still, the hunter had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dean had never so much as gotten close to being turned before. They made sure of that. They covered one another's backs. "Where was I during all of this?"

There seemed to be hope in Andrea's eyes at that, and suddenly, all the little pieces began to make sense. She hadn't been able to trust him until she saw him for herself. Both she and Lucas had been wary around him when he first arrived. They were both reading the books and were now to the point when Sam was soulless.

"I knew it wasn't you. You couldn't have possibly done that."

"Done what?"

"Let Dean be turned?"

"When you say 'let'-"

"You watched-or your imposter watched-Dean be turned."

Sam suddenly found it difficult to breath and got slightly sicker as he thought about it. "I just..."  _God, how an he even look at me?_  "I just watched?"

Andrea looked suspicious once again, but not in the way that she had when he'd first stepped out of the Impala. She was smart and realized that maybe it hadn't been an imposter, but perhaps something else. "Yes. The books haven't explained why."

"I can," Sam said, suddenly losing his appetite entirely. "My soul was still trapped with Lucifer and Michael. My body and brain were running things without much care for other people or society." He shuddered at the thought of having just watched his brother be turned into a vampire. And then it hit him. If Andrea and Lucas had managed to find the books, then it was just a matter of time before other people, people they had saved and protected, found them as well. If they hadn't already. All of the dirty details of his life, from the demon blood to Ruby to Lilith to Lucifer and now even what his soulless self had done, that was all out there for public consumption.

He was going to be sick.

"So it was, but wasn't you?"

"I guess you could say that." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "It isn't really easy to explain. I can try."

"No, Sam. I know that person I was reading about wasn't you, even if it was partly you, it wasn't the part of you that makes the man I instantly recognized when you got out of that car." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I promise you, though, unless I don't hear from you for five or so years again, I won't pick up those books ever again."

The hunter nodded. "Thank you." Not that it would help all that much. Those books were destined to become the Winchester gospel, unless something had changed. But her words helped.


	27. Amazing Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas talk hell, and the brothers find out some of what the fangirls get up to.

_"Courage and grace is a formidable mixture."_

_Marlene Dietrich, actress._

"You are worried that the people you rescued now know about your time in hell. About what you had to do," Cas said, placing a hand on Dean's arm.

"Look, Cas," Dean said as he sat on the futon, "just because I'm willing to admit that I need time wrapping my head around the fact that someone is still publishing those books doesn't mean I'm going to have a Barbara Walters special here." What was it with the angel tonight? Usually, he respected Dean's need for space, but instead, he was trying to talk, and then there had been the whole thing with the make-up remover. Dean had tried to back away and insist he do it himself, but Cas had held the back of his head in place and made it clear there would be no moving.

It had been odd to have the angel that close, to have someone take care of Dean for once instead of the other way around. The only people who had done that had been his mom, his dad on the rare occasion Dean had let him know he needed it and Bobby. And the way Cas had touched his face and slid his thin fingers into his hair, it hadn't been like his parents or Bobby. The experience brought back vague snatches of memories of Lisa when he'd come back from the fight with Lucifer. Those weeks had been a blur of grief and hollowness. He could only barely recall how Lisa had helped him through it.

"I don't understand that reference," Cas said with a small frown.

"It means there's no way I'm breaking down in some big confession about this."

"I know you don't want to, but you should know that people will understand. Andrea understood, am I correct?"

Dean huffed out a derisive laugh. "The opposite, actually. She said it was forgivable, even excusable." It was fairly obvious that Cas did not agree with Dean's assessment of the situation.

"She's right. At the very least, I hope she is." Dean was about to point out one more reason why they shouldn't have a little heart-to-heart: Cas sucked at it. Way to talk about uncertainty to make a guy feel better. Then, his friend finished his thought. "I broke in far less time than you."

When sad blue eyes met Dean's, the hunter felt something catch in his throat. "What you did afterward isn't the same."

"No, because  _you_  were there to keep the world from burning in the end." Cas held his hands palm up at his sides. "I betrayed Sam and you and your faith after much less than you endured." The angel sat at Dean's side. "And despite it all, I still remember how you were in hell, what your soul looked like. You were still resisting, which is more than can be said of myself after my own experience."

"I was the one with the blade," Dean explained. "How was that resisting?" Bela's condemnation of him for remaining human despite torturing so many souls seemed destined to haunt him.

"Your soul was so bright, twisting in on itself to protect itself from the darkness that surrounded you from taking hold." Dean was suddenly reminded of that day at the park after Samhaim had risen, when the angel had confessed that he wasn't a hammer and began looking more like a potential friend to the hunter. He remembered how Cas had spoken about Earth. How in awe he was. He looked the same now.

"If you tell me it was beautiful or some girly shit like that, I'll punch you."

"I thought we had agreed it was unwise for you to do that," Cas said. Dean gave him an exasperated roll of his eyes. "You need not worry about me saying it was beautiful. It was far from it." The hunter felt a twinge of hurt, but immediately stifled it down, since it was ridiculous to feel insulted that his soul wasn't prom queen material. "All the more so because as twisted as it was and tainted as it was becoming,it was obvious your soul was likely one of my father's more remarkable creations."

Dean wanted to but feared to ask if it was still so broken. It felt broken, or at least something did.

But Cas was still talking, still using that reverent voice that made Dean squirm because it sounded like he was talking about something much more commonly intimate than his soul. "It was so difficult to put you back together. Your soul is no more trusting than you are. It rebelled and fought being placed back in the body I had worked so hard to rebuild. Slowly, though, you opened up, untwisting enough to show that cracked and aching core."

The hunter felt the air leave him just as it had with Famine. Broken, cracked and twisted. And now, on display for the world through those damned books. Hell, one day, even this conversation would find itself in the annals of the Winchester gospels for posterity's sake. "Famine was right, then," he said.

"Famine should be grateful that I was affected by him as well when he lied that your soul was anything less than whole," Cas said, vehemently, making eye contact with the hunter again. "I used my Grace to close those gaps."

"If only you knew how often you'd end up having to use your mojo to heal me later, right?" At least his soul wasn't damaged.

"No, I—" Cas turned from Dean to stare at his hands. He seemed determined not to continue that sentence.

"Cas?" Dean asked in a firm tone.

"You will not like it," the angel said.

"What did you do, Cas?"

"I have seen you and Sam use floss in place of proper stitches."

"Yeah...?" Dean said, not knowing where this was going. He eyed the angel, still wearing just the button-up shirt and dress pants he'd noticed from the video. The hunter took in his friend's posture, fidgety hands and toes. Toes? Dean's eyes moved downward again to note that Cas was not wearing his shoes, either. He'd not really paid attention to Cas's feet the few times he'd seen him without his customary dress shoes, and now he was suddenly wondering what they looked like, not because he had some sort of foot fetish—and there was a word he thought he'd never use in conjunction with the angel—but because he was way too curious for his own good.

"It binds your injuries together so that they can knit and heal on their own, but it must stay stitched into your wound while it does."

Dean looked up from the wriggling, sock-covered toes to the hands now resting at Cas's knees and his tense shoulders. Cas was expecting the man to be angry with him, and maybe at some other time he would have, maybe once he understood just what had been done he still would be, but Dean was far too confused to be angry. "You used your Grace to stitch me back together? So, what, you got chocolate in my peanut butter?" That got no response, and Dean didn't need for him to point out he didn't understand the reference. "Some of your Grace was in my soul?" This time he got a nod. "How did you get it back?" Because the alternative was weird even for Dean.

"I didn't," Cas said, simply. "It is unretrievable now, even if I wanted to get it back. I doubt close scrutiny would even allow me to separate it from your soul." His eyes were cast down and the angel's hands were gripping at his knees. "I am sorry."

"Sorry? For not letting me be more of a stupid mess than I already am? For obeying orders?" Dean shook his head. "They asked a hell of a lot of you to go into Hell to get me."

"I was just one of many sent," Cas said, looking at Dean once again. "Whichever angel found you was to bring you back. We had no instructions upon what state your soul was to be in. In fact, you would have been more likely to say yes to Michael if I had not intervened."

Dean turned toward his friend; he was having no more of this shifty half-glancing or catching the odd glimpse of the angel. Not with the conversation having taken sucha personal turn for them both. "So, you were rebelling against heaven's orders even before you met me? Nice to know I'm not quite as much of a bad influence as I thought." He has to lighten the mood because Cas actually looks upset, and well, knowing that he's got a little of his friend somewhere in him might be weird as fuck, but it doesn't seem like a bad thing. It might have once, back when he wasn't sure he could trust Cas and he was maybe a little stab-happy with Ruby's knife, but not now.

The angel's lips twitched upward just once. "I would not call it rebelling, necessarily, just modifying orders."

"So, what? I've got a little bit of angel Grace in me from the one angel I can stand, that's not so bad for me, but what about you. What did you get in return?"

Cas looked at him as open and honest as ever when he stated just one word so simply he couldn't possibly have realized how easy it would be for that word to break a man like Dean Winchester. "You."

#

Sam hadn't seen his brother, and while he was all for giving Dean space, there was a limit to how long he would give him. He had been in that room for a while with the door shut. Sam had expected him to emerge to at least go out for a beer. When that hadn't happened, the younger brother began to worry. He stood and headed toward the office. Andrea was in the hall, looking a little lost. "He still hasn't come out," she said.

The hunter placed a hand on her shoulder. "Andrea, you know this isn't your fault. It's better that we know about the books. I'll talk Dean down, and it will be fine."

And with any luck, Dean would talk Sam down as well, because the prospect of people knowing everything that he'd done the last few years, that was unnerving. There were people out there who knew more about him than he did. People who knew things like the fact that he'd actually left his brother to be turned into a vampire. And he was certain that whatever the autopilot version of him did to Bobby, it was probably in those books as well. And Cas had already warned him about trying to seek out information that wasn't slipping out past the wall in his head on its own. Learning something before it made itself known could drag other memories, the ones he wasn't ready to deal with, out into the open. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Damn.

He knocked on his brother's door and waited for an answer. He got a gruff, "Yeah," so he went ahead and opened the door to find Dean and Cas sitting on the futon, both were very close and by this point, turned toward one another. Sam felt suddenly like he was ten again, accidentally going downstairs at Julie and Matt Henderson's place. He'd been there to play Matt's Sega Genesis, while Dean had been there to hit on Julie. Dean had worn the same expression on his face then, too, just before he'd informed Sam he was an obnoxious little cock blocker and had kept him from even managing to kiss the girl.

Huh.

"You know, if you needed someone to talk to, I wouldn't have minded. I was out in the next room," Sam said. Because he knew that If anything had been about to go on in this room, his brother would deny it now.

"He just showed up," Dean said, shifting away from the angel. Yes, it looked like denial was running deep. The older hunter looked around Sam to spot the woman who had welcomed them into the house and unintentionally revealed something that neither brother was entirely prepared to handle. "Andrea, why don't you come in here and meet Cas?"

The woman stepped into the room and held out a slightly shaky, but relatively steady hand to the angel. "Castiel, it is wonderful to meet you."

Thankfully, Cas wasn't as socially awkward as he once was, and he at least knew what to do with the hand extended to him. He stood and shook it, though his face was as serious as ever. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"I guess you're the friend Dean 'ran into' last night?"

The angel nodded. "We traveled home so he could say goodnight to Johnny." Thankfully, Castiel seemed to learn that some issues still remained private, like the fact that the angel had been yanked back to heaven for dabbling in Purgatory again.

Andrea smiled at Dean. "I wish I would have had an angel friend the first time I had to leave Lucas or Dana for a trip."

"How did you know this was my first?" Dean asked.

"I know the looks," the woman said with a kind smile. "I've been there. Twice."

Sam chuckled, wanting to lighten the mood and maybe get his brother's mind headed in the right direction. "So, Andrea, you knew about Cas and you've obviously seen enough of the online chatter to know about the people who are fans of Sam slash Dean-"

"Hey," Dean said, standing from the futon. "Dean slash Sam. I ain't somebody's bitch, and sure as hell not yours."

"When I was trying to find Chuck, I stumbled across enough of what they write about us. Trust me when I say I don't appear to be much of a catcher."

"But I'm the oldest," Dean said with a frown.

"And I'm taller."

"What's that got to do with anything?" the older brother asked, gesturing broadly with his hands.

"About as much as your age."

"If it makes you feel any better," Andrea said, "the slash fiction about you and Castiel seems to be much more equal from its descriptions."

Whatever Dean had been about to say seemed to die on his tongue, and Sam swore he could actually see his brother's brain short-circuiting. The younger hunter had been hoping for a reaction like this. It's why he'd mentioned the fanfiction in the first place. Unless Dean led a secret life Sam didn't know about, the younger brother would have to say Dean was 100 percent straight, but at least letting him contemplate the alternative wasn't a bad idea. Because Sam knew what he nearly walked in on, if his brotherly instinct was anything to go by, wouldn't have ended well if Dean couldn't at least wrap his head around it first.

Sam wasn't going to play matchmaker, since that could have disastrous results with those two, but he knew his brother far too well and had been spending enough time around Cas to know neither of them had experienced a relationship of any kind that was this close-because even Sam couldn't go traipsing around in Dean's head, and Dean sure as hell wouldn't let him if he could-and it might lead them to doing something beyond the realm of friendship. If they weren't prepared for that, and even if they were, a freakout was inevitable from Dean and probably some angelic equivalent from Cas. The nuclear fallout from what would feel like a mess of rejection would be so big and so bad, their friendship would probably never recover.

They both needed to recognize where they were heading so their emotionally stunted selves could either embrace it or put the kibash on it before it became a problem.

"They write about me and Cas?" Dean finally asked. He looked somewhat appalled while the angel looked simply confused and curious.

"Well, they write about everyone. There are even a few stories about me that have me hooking up with either you or Sam." Her cheeks turned slightly pink at that. "But you and Castiel are considered a popular couple."

"Couple?" Cas asked almost simultaneously as Dean adamantly stated, "We're not a couple!"

Sam couldn't help himself. If there was one plus to all of this, it was that the fans now had more fodder for their imaginations than just him and his older brother. The younger hunter found himself laughing entirely at his brother's expense.

"And what slash pairings does my baby brother have?" Dean looked smug, and Sam was smart enough to know that Andrea's answer wasn't going to be good.

"I don't read them," Andrea said, and Sam believed her. Though, he got the suspicion that she'd at least skimmed the ones about her, and he couldn't blame her; that would be hypocritical. "It's been odd enough using the books to keep tabs on you both. But, I know I've seen Sam and Castiel." Sam took note of the fact that his brother looked just momentarily jealous at that and tried not to take insult at the look of disgust on Castiel's face at the suggestion, a look that hadn't even flickered at the mention of the angel and Dean together. "Sam and Gabriel..." The smirk on Dean's face grew at that while Sam's faded away. Even if the angel had tried to help at the end and would probably find the idea of them as a couple hysterical (the height difference alone was worthy of a few hundred jokes), Sam would never, ever hit that or vice versa. "Various other angels, too." Sam got the impression that he wanted the explanation to who those "other angels" were even less than he'd want to know about Gabriel. "Crowley on occasion. With any of you, really. Though the most popular for him seems to be Bobby."

At that, Sam met his brother's eyes, and like grade school boys determined not to be the first to break, the ridiculousness of the entire situation finally won out and they both erupted into laughter that threatened to put them both on the floor. Even Andrea was quietly giggling. (Cas still looked confused.)

"They call it Crobby," she added for good measure.

That was the tipping point. Sam was now laughing so hard that he was crying, and Dean had landed himself ass-first on the floor, tears streaming down his face and his arms clutching his sides as though he was afraid they might literally split. Every time the chortles began to die down, Dean would exclaim, "Crobby!" and it would start back up again.

When the laughing had gone down to a reasonable level and Sam was pretty sure he'd pulled muscles in his face and stomach, Cas finally asked, "But I believed the publishing of those books was a bad thing."

"It is," Dean said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "But you've still got to find humor in the small stuff."

Cas nodded once in understanding, though Sam wasn't really sure he did understand at all. "I will be leaving, then." And with that, he was gone.

"Sorry," Dean apologized for their friend. "He's really crappy at goodbyes." He was holding his side and still trying to regain his composure as his phone began to ring.

He answered it with a half-breathless "Hello?"

Almost immediately, Dean began laughing as hard as he'd been before. He barely gasped out, "It's Bobby."

Sam was quick to join him and he could only barely hear their adoptive father asking, "What the hell is so funny?"

Almost in unison, the two brothers said "Crobby!" before deteriorating once again.

#

Arriving in the bedroom of the small apartment bedroom, or what had been a small bedroom when Castiel had last visited this place, the angel was immediately confronted with the sound of a woman's voice speaking softly but encouragingly, "Oh yeah... Right there. Right  _there_."

With a clearing of his throat that was wholly unnecessary for any purpose other than getting the attention of the couple in the bed, Castiel awaited a reaction, but neither seemed to hear him. "Ahem!" he tried much louder this time, garnering a scream from the woman in the bed while the man slid up from beneath the covers, and reached for something under the previously unused pillow.

Becky was quick to turn on a light, while Garth stood, gun at the ready and without any outward sign of shame or embarrassment at his current state of undress. "Cas?" he asked, lowering the gun.

"Hello, Garth, Becky." He acknowledged them both. "I am sorry to interrupt you mid-coitus, but I am seeking Chuck Shurley, or whoever is publishing the Supernatural books on his behalf."

"Um..." Becky said, fidgeting beneath the sheets. She looked nearly as guilty as she had after using a demonic potion to convince Sam to marry her back in November in time for her high school reunion. Castiel had spent his time seeking a way to reverse what she had done and Dean had been left to hunt with the man now standing naked before him.

"Just tell him, Becks," Garth said, kneeling on the bed beside her and placing himself just slightly in front of her in a protective—though pointless—gesture. He turned his attention to the angel. "She was only doing what she was told. And she was allowed to use some of the profits for herself to do things like buy the apartment next door and expand our place."

Castiel was intrigued by the fact that these two had managed to find their happiness in one another. Nearly as much as he had been by the idea that those who read Chuck's books felt the need to portray himself and Dean in a romantic light. Though it may not have been the taboo of the fans' inclination for stories involving Dean and Sam as a couple, Dean had himself Called Castiel his brother; the hunter also had not exhibited any interest in pursing men as sexual partners, and the angel would not take another vessel merely for the possibility of testing the accuracy of these readers' imaginations.

If he had felt strange sitting beside his friend, very warm and tingly inside, that was neither here nor there. So was his minor irritation at Sam for interrupting something. Or possibly nothing.

"I have always thought it was a crime that the Supernatural books had to stop publication when Chuck was still writing them. I mean, the fans hadn't even gotten to meet you yet. So, well, when Chuck disappeared and an archangel came down on God's orders that the books keep being published, who was I to argue?"

"Who was the archangel?"

"Her name was Azrael," Becky answered.

That was not who Castiel had been hoping for. Apparently, the Angel of Death was taking what Dean would call a very "hands-on" approach with earth, or at least the Winchesters. After millennia in heaven and even longer—because time is relative between the various realms—on earth, Azrael was very suddenly taking a great deal of interest and responsibility.

"She isn't the one who usually picks them up, though. That's usually Samuel or Esther."

"I call her Miss Grumpy," Garth added. "Not to her face, though."

"And you have no idea where Chuck is?"

Becky shook her head. "But I can tell you where I  _think_  he is." She leaned forward, holding the sheets to her chest. Her voice got slightly hushed as though she was telling a great secret, and somehow, speaking in a softer tone would have less effect. "I think he got taken to heaven like the prophets in the Bible."

Her theory made some sense, reluctant as Castiel was to admit it. It would also place Chuck at the mercy of Heaven so that even if he wanted to keep his promise to the Winchesters, he could not do so easily.

"I apologize again for interrupting." The angel would discuss what he had learned thus far with the hunters before taking any action with Azrael. This concerned them all, and the angel had already learned that Dean didn't like for Castiel to undertake things alone.

"Congratulations on your..." The angel gestured to the couple on the bed. "...this."

And on that awkward note, he left.


	28. Facing Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes an appearance, sort of, and the hunters prepare to destroy the guitar.

_"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."_

_Friedrich Nietzsche, philosopher_

"Well, well," Crowley said as he took a sip of his glass of Craig, "the King of Heaven paying a visit to the King of Hell. This must be a sign of the end of days. Again."

The angel rolled his eyes and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Technically, I'm not King. Heaven's a sort of republic now. I'm just top dog on the counsel." He walked around the table where Crowley sat and eyed the bottle of damned good scotch. Crowley nearly stopped him when he began to pour a glass for himself because it was  _his_  damned good scotch, but at the moment, he was too busy trying not to look intimidated by the fact that this smug little bastard could probably smite him with just a thought.

Instead, he took a drink of his scotch and kept his eyes focused entirely on the angel now sniffing his own glass.

"I'm impressed," the angel said. "By now, some people would have their hands shaking, but your glass is a steady as bedrock.

"Just because you managed to kill all of my- _all of my?_ " The angel nodded his head and grinned before taking a sip of alcohol. "... all of my guards doesn't mean I am bloody well scared of you."

"Sure you are," the thin-lipped vessel said with a grin. "And that's okay. Everyone's got to be scared of something. That good, irrational fear of something they know they can't defeat."

"Speaking from experience, I assume?"

"Have you  _met_  my family? My older brothers' version of noogies or Indian burns make being impaled seem like a fun little tickle."

"I've had the pleasure of meeting a few of them. Though I'm personally pissed at your baby brother."

The angel chuckled into his glass as he took another small swig. "Yeah. About my baby bro. You're going to leave him and the Winchesters alone. Singer and whoever else ends up in their crazy family, too."

"I'm sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that." Crowley stiffened his posture and did his very best to summon his various servants to this location. Though it was obvious that the archangel was powerful enough to keep them out of the room, at the very least, they might weaken him a bit before he managed to kill Crowley. Better yet, they might be able to kill the bastard after he offed Crowley. (The demon didn't expect he'd survive a fight with this particular winged git.)

"A 2001 reference. How adorable," the angel said in a tone that should have been accompanied with him pinching the demon's cheek, "but that wasn't a request. You see how easy it was for me to obliterate your forces. Imagine if I did that and informed a few people, like Meg Masters or some of the other Lucifer loyalists or perhaps Alistair's trainees who aren't getting the kind of action that gets them off now that Hell's more or less the line from, well, hell."

He swirled the scotch in the glass and took another drink. "And don't even get me  _started_  on the people on my team I can call on to help me out. You'd never believe it, but  _Azrael_  is taking an interest in the Winchesters and Cas."

Crowley knew that of the angels, there were some he didn't want to mess with and didn't think he could con. Michael, Lucifer and Azrael had been at the tip-top of that page, damned near consisted of the whole list after he realized Raphael was as malleable as the rest of them. Still, that didn't mean he was going to just play nice.

"Castiel screwed me over. He reneged on a deal, and that pisses me off nearly as much as the fact the bastard went all 'God' on me."

With a tip of the head and the bob of a borrowed Adam's apple, the angel finished his glass of the scotch. He let out a quiet hiss before setting the crystal glass on the table. "You're just going to have to get used to it. Because you're going to have to work in league with the Winchesters and Cas again, and it's better if you can all learn to play nice." The angel made his way for the door. "And I don't think I need to tell you that you need to keep my little visit a secret. After Cas's attempts at becoming BFFs with demons, no one really trusts an angel who mingles with your kind. You in particular."

"Don't let it get around that you're 'slumming.' Got it." Crowley might hint, might leave clues and might nudge people in the right direction, but he wasn't stupid enough to let the words come directly from him. "You said I'm going to have to work with the Winchesters again," the demon said before the angel could leave the room. "What exactly should I be expecting?"

"Noogies and Indian burns," the archangel said as he walked away.

"That's not a very politically correct term," Crowley called after him.

#

Bobby hadn't had the pleasure of meeting Chuck Shurley, but he'd promised himself that the moment the "prophet" returned from wherever he was hiding out-heaven, as Cas suspected, or otherwise-the hunter was going to have his hide. He didn't even care that it wasn't technically Chuck's fault that a few dozen fangirls were busy writing stories that involved himself and Crowley in some compromising positions. All that mattered was that somewhere out on the internet was something called "Crobby" and he was not pleased at all.

The older hunter was busy researching Robert Johnson's guitar, and so far there were differing versions of the actual curse. All of them matched up with what he had told Dean , and what he had found would only encourage the stupid idgit to do something even more idiotic than he'd already done. According to the information he'd gotten from some reliable sources, Johnson's guitar could be touched without fear of the curse, so long as the person who touched it had made a bargain with a crossroads demon. And that meant that the biggest, self-sacrificing moron of them all, love him as he might, was going to be the one who stole that guitar from its place in Lenko's home.

And if one of the tabs currently open on his browser just so happened to be a link to the Supernatural fan site, who could criticize him? After hearing some of the people the fans tried to set Sam up with, Bobby began to worry that Crowley was one of his better options for himself. And while there were some so-called "pairings" that disturbed Bobby like nothing else, like he and either of the boys, there were a few others that weren't half-bad. Most relieving of all, though was that while Lucifer seemed to have a story or two with everyone, no one had gone above and beyond for Bobby with the lord of all things evil. Sam, though... well, Dean was going to kick some ass when he realized that there were people who consistently wrote stories involving Lucifer and the younger Winchester brother.

Bobby made a mental note to never let either of the brothers learn of these stories' existence. Especially Dean. Not only would he be pissed as hell that someone was writing that stuff about his brother, he'd start getting ideas, maybe the right ones, about what Sam endured in the Cage.

Eyes weary of scanning the Internet for info on the guitar skimmed over the list of stories.

Suddenly, the MSN Messenger that he'd never deleted from his computer and always started up with Windows dinged to signal he had a message.

_King_of_Hades_666: Those fanfic writers are really imaginative, though they tend to make me a cuddly teddy bear more than the evil son of a bitch I really am. Or are you the bear and I'm the cub? I've never managed to use these terms properly._

_SingersSalvage: who is this?_

He asked that, but he already knew. He was more uncomfortable with the fact that Crowley not only knew how to message him but was apparently tracking his computer usage. How long had the bastard been tailing him online?

_King_of_Hades_666: Bobby... don't insult my intelligence. We both know you know who this is. By the way, both of Robert Johnson's guitars exist and are cursed. Problem is they're the same model, same style, so there's no way of telling which is which. The only person who can touch either one is someone who has made a crossroads deal, since the hellhounds aren't allowed to have their way with them until the contract is up._

_King_of_Hades_666: And, yes, I've had Lenko under contract for the last seven years. Now THERE was a guy who used tongue._

Bobby shuddered at the reminder of their little deal-sealing. He may not have been able to go to his grave saying he'd never kissed a man-he'd gone to Woodstock at Karen's insistence, and might have been accosted by some people tripping balls and had a wet one planted on his lips-but Bobby had hoped he'd be able to say that he had not kissed a demon wearing a male meatsuit. Sadly, he couldn't even say that.

At least he'd gotten the ability to walk. That almost made things equal.

_SingerSalvage: and you're just freely offering that info? no charge, no deals, to the people you probably hate most in the world. i ain't buyin it._

_King_of_Hades_666: I wouldn't either if I were in your Carhart boots, but I had a visit last night from a very reliable source that said I was going to have to work with you, like it or not. The feathery bastard who stays with you too._

_King_of_Hades_666: Consider this my olive branch._

_SingerSalvage: you'll forgive me if i don't buy it._

_King_of_Hades_666: I would expect nothing less from a bloody paranoid bastard like yourself._

_King_of_Hades_666: Though I WAS disappointed to find that your password was Karen and your anniversary. Very easy hack, Bobby._

_SingerSalvage: As soon as I disconnect this, I'm going to be contacting a friend to set me up with the best security I can find._

_King_of_Hades_666: Give Frank my love._

_King_of_Hades_666 has left the chat._

Bobby quickly closed every window on his computer, then disconnected every plug from the wall.

The hunter sure as hell wasn't going on just Crowley's word, but he might try to corroborate what the limey bastard had said.

#

Castiel was keeping himself, and Johnny, busy in the sandbox at the front of the house. The boy was pressed close to Castiel's leg; Johnny's need to stay close ensured that the angel was seated at the edge of the box beside him just so the baby could play. The position had its benefits, though, since it made it easy for the angel to prevent the fine granules from flying upward into the baby's eyes.

Balthazar and Metatron were researching while Castiel couldn't, and though a part of him thought he should be feeling useless, that he would have if other circumstances were keeping him from research or otherwise helping in the hunt, he was content to assist by watching Johnny. Some of his brethren might be disappointed in him for so willingly catering to the whims of a child when there was something malevolent to be destroyed, but they only saw importance in the big picture, not the tiny ones that made up the whole.

The baby began to babble idly as he moved his toy truck over the sand in aimless patterns.. Despite the months of neglect, Castiel suspected that talking wouldn't be far off for the boy.

"I hope that your first word is 'dada.' That would make your father very happy."

Johnny grinned at the word. Recognition was a good sign.

His little toes wriggled beneath the cooling sand-it was starting to get late, though the sun had yet to dip beyond the horizon. Johnny's feet wiggled more elaborately and he looked at Castiel with the obvious expectation that he do likewise. The angel's socks and shoes were at the side of the sandbox, as he had learned the day before that while he could make the sand disappear, there was no reason to invite it into his shoes if it could be avoided.

"I've got the info!" Bobby yelled from the porch. The angel immediately shoved his socks into the pockets of his pants and his feet moved from the sand and into his shoes.

"Time to go inside," he told the baby and extended his hands out toward him. Johnny gave a last longing look at the little brown truck with the odd face in place of its grill and windshield. He seemed resigned to the end of his playtime and soon stretched his arms above his head, indicating he was ready. Castiel picked him up and walked toward Bobby's house.

"What did you find?"

"That's actually a question that's got a couple of prongs for an explanation. When I tell you this first bit, you can't panic. I've told the boys and they're taking extra precautions. And we've already tested the wards Joshua placed around the house, so there are no worries there."

Castiel eyed the older hunter warily. He sounded far too much like Dean after doing something stupid that he had luckily survived. It was something that didn't bode well when it was Dean, and the angel didn't think that it meant something good if it was from Bobby.

"I had some leads, not many, but enough. Then Crowley began messaging me on the computer and confirmed everything I'd found. And it helped me check a few more leads."

"You're taking information from Crowley?"

"He offered it, and I thought it was worth checking up on. I was right. I already told the boys all of this, and you're probably going to want to go with them when they prep to burn up the guitar. The ritual to counteract the hellhounds requires Latin and Enochian. And I might love Dean like he's my own boy, but the ritual's long and that's a hell of a lot to spell out photetically."

"His Latin is improving," Castiel said, feeling the need to defend his friend.

"It is, but it'll be better with you and Sam doing the talking and Dean handling the physical stuff." Castiel knew that Bobby had a point on this, but he still felt it was somewhat unfair to the hunter. Dean had his own brand of intelligence, and it tended to kick in when Sam's and Castiel's failed. The angel also knew that the man was somewhat uncomfortable about the fact that he didn't have the kind of book smarts that Sam had or the wide library of knowledge that Castiel possessed.

"He's also probably going to be the one who's going to have to touch the guitar, too."

"No," Castiel said sternly. "He will not risk himself on information that you got from Crowley."

"I didn't get the information from Crowley," Bobby said. "He just corroborated what I'd already heard."

"Dean  _will not_  face the hellhounds again." Johnny fussed in Castiel's arm's at the severe tone, so the angel gave him a reassuring rub of his head.

"Well, we have no idea how this curse will react to an angel, or whether the hellhounds will be excited about a tasty snack of angel Grace. Dean's at least made a crossroads deal once before, so there's some chance that he might be exempt from the curse." Bobby lifted the brim of his hat and rubbed his sleeve over his forehead. "I don't like this. At all. Which is why you and Sam have to be quick with your Latin and Enochian so that the hounds don't start getting Dean's scent."

The angel clenched his jaw. "I do not like this plan."

"Yeah, well, I'm not thrilled with it either," Bobby said. "But it's the best we've got. And I know you'll be there to save Dean's behind if he does anything stupid."

"I believe it is less a matter of 'if' than one of 'when.'" He glanced down at the baby in his arms and knew that was a lesson the boy would learn very early into his development: his father did irrational things to protect those he loved. There was very little doubt he would sacrifice much and place himself in the way of danger often for the little boy currently trying to stuff a still-sandy hand in his mouth.

Castiel gently pulled the hand away and took the boy inside where he could clean the fingers that were undoubtedly going to go back into his mouth, even if the angel presented him with every teething toy they had in the house. "When will the brothers be going to Mr. Lenko's home to obtain the guitar?" That was a very polite way of asking when the brothers would be stealing the instrument, but if the decision came down to either human laws or human safety, the angel would choose human safety every time.

"We're aiming for one in the morning," Bobby said. "Give them as much time as possible, if it turns out to be the guitar that triggers at midnight."

"What of the other guitar? How long would Dean have if he touched it and you are wrong about his prior crossroads contract protecting him?" Castiel asked as he pulled the wet wipes from the diaper bag and promptly and thoroughly cleaned Johnny's hands.

"No idea. Longer than a few minutes, less than two hours."

"Then we will need to work quickly." Almost as soon as Castiel finished with the baby, a finger was jammed into his mouth and gently gnawed on to ease the pain of a new tooth.

"I more or less thought that was a given," Bobby shot back at him. Castiel knew he was being unfair, criticizing this plan when it really was all that they had, but he was uncomfortable with the possibility that Dean would be bait.

The angel looked at the thoroughly disconnected computer. "Did Crowley give any indication that he knew about Johnny?"

"No," Bobby said, "but he's been able to track what I was researching on the computer. Depending on when he started doing that, he might have found out about Johnny while you and Dean were using the video last night. Dean had a few choice four-letter words about it when I told him."

"That is perfectly understandable. I will ask my brothers to enhance their protection of the house and of Johnny." His own arm tightened just a fraction around the small frame resting happily against his side.

#

Dean was antsy, though he was doing his best to look calm and collected. Sam supposed his brother was fooling Andrea and her family, who did not know him well enough to see through the bravado, but after nearly three decades with the man, Sam knew when his brother was nervous. This went even beyond normal nervousness. His brother was half-sick at the thought of facing down the hellhounds again, and Sam couldn't blame him. Dean was the one who was going to have to touch the guitar. He was the only one who might have some protection against the hellhounds, and considering the kinds of enemies Cas had made downstairs, it was probably better if he didn't walk around with a giant "come eat me" sign for a bunch of Fidos from Hell.

There was also the new factor of Crowley that had everyone worried. They couldn't be sure if or when Crowley had learned of Johnny, and really it was just a matter of time before he did. He had some reliable source telling him that they were all going to have to work together again like the last two years hadn't happened? There were only two options to that, either Crowley was lying and this was the start of some new scheme from the reigning king of hell or he was telling the truth and something huge was laying in wait. Sam never thought he'd think so, but he was honestly hoping that Crowley was up to something again.

"You don't need to stay up and wait for us," Dean tried to assure Andrea, Alan and Lucas.

"That's really funny that you think so," Lucas said. "I know you weren't happy about what Mom told you last night, but books or not, you're going to have to get used to people caring about what happens to you. You've got a lot of people out there who want you to stay alive." The boy had been relatively quiet for most of their visit, but it appeared that when something was very important, as their safety seemed to be to him, he was going to speak up and broker no argument.

Dean placed a firm hand on Lucas's shoulder. "I get it, kid. And we'll do everything we can go come back in one piece."

He sounded so confident, and Sam realized how easy it had been for all those years for his brother to convince him that nothing was wrong. When the younger brother should have been worried about his father or the monsters that really did go bump in the night, he wasn't because of that confidence. Dean had always made it so easy for Sam to have as normal a childhood as possible, and it was the tone that he'd just heard that had made it possible. Their dad had had the tone, too, but it had never been as effective on Sam as his brother's.

They were quick to say their goodbyes and then made their way out to the Impala. Andrea had insisted they promise they would be back. She said that some of the other hunters she had met wanted to talk with them. She hadn't quite explained how that was going to happen, but the two hunters had agreed, reluctantly. While Sam was more encouraged to talk with these other hunters when he realized they were people that they had encountered on previous hunts, he noticed that his brother seemed less so.

Dean climbed into the car and started the engine. Sam couldn't help but notice the bottle of Jack sitting between them. "You have plans for the night?" he asked.

"I might end up ground chuck again, Sammy. I need a little liquid courage."

"If you think I or Cas will let that happen-"

"Sam, I know you mean well, but trust me when I tell you that you don't get it. I'm glad that you don't, but you don't. Dude, there are probably dogs down there that still have pieces of me stuck between their big fat chompers. And they  _loved_  Alistair." He thought he heard Dean mutter "Started liking me, too."

And maybe that was the source of the worst of this, Sam thought. Though it might seem amusing as hell to have a hellhound bounding toward his brother like Lassie, that would only be a sign of the kind of torturer he'd been in the Pit. "I could always steal the guitar-"

"The hell you are," Dean growled. "You aren't going to have the mutts coming after you."

"You do not need to worry. You will not come to harm," a voice said from the back of the vehicle. Sam found himself jumping in his seat, but Dean didn't seem fazed in the least. Considering how much time his brother had been spending around the angel, Sam wasn't really surprised that Dean had grown accustomed to Cas's sudden appearances.

"Promises, promises," Dean said as he parked the car within a reasonable distance from Oscar Lenko's home. There were some trees and an old graveyard just at the side of the man's yard. That was where they were planning to torch the guitar and perform the ritual. Thankfully, the car was close enough that they could run to it if things went south.

"Allow me to at least transport you inside," Cas offered. "It would be much easier to disable a security device from inside rather than out." Dean had already made it clear that he didn't want Cas touching him or the guitar so long as he was cursed. Of course, that would only fly so long as Dean was not in life-threatening danger. They really were so self-sacrificingly protective of one another it was practically adorable, to use Emma's sentiments about the two of them. Personally, it made Sam a little sick, but he was a younger brother and bound to feel that way.

Hell, even if that nagging little voice at the back of Sam's head was wrong and it was just a matter of Dean having nothing to base friendships on than their own freakishly co-dependent relationship, it was still weird as hell to see his older brother doting on anyone, let alone someone Sam had begun to consider a brother.

"Has Bobby gotten in touch with his computer guru?" Dean asked.

"He has," Cas said. "Though this man, Frank, he is adamant that he will not come to the house. He feels if Bobby is being watched—and he refuses to believe it's by demons—he could be at risk, too. He is doing what he can remotely." Cas stuck his hand over the front bench of the car. "Frank provided the alarm code for Mr. Lenko's home. He called it 'child's play.'" Since Sam was reaching over for the paper, he was able to see the angel making air quotes at that.

"Well, that's something at least," Sam said, taking the paper. "Times like these, you've got to miss Ash. Crazy computer genius and completely believed in all the crazy things hunters talk about."

Dean got out of the car and pulled out the bottle of Jack. As he raised it to his lips, he looked between Sam and Cas. "You know, you can both put away the disapproving little bitch faces. It won't change my mind about chugging this." Sam glanced at the angel to see he was still looking at Dean disapprovingly. "Don't bust a gut. I'm not drinking the whole thing." Looking at the angel, the younger hunter swore there was more to the odd expression on his face. "I just need enough to be stupid enough to do this."

"I told you that I would not let you come to harm." And there it was. Cas was insulted, maybe even hurt.

"I know it. And I  _still_  need this." Dean took a few large gulps of the liquor. It was more than Sam would have wanted to see him drink but less than he might have expected. The angel still looked perturbed.

The three made their way to the edge of Oscar Lenko's property line only to watch Cas get tossed backward like Dean and Sam at the ends of Lillith's puppet strings. Both brothers ran to the angel, but not so surprisingly, Dean got there first. What was odd was how tactile he was with the trenchcoated figure slumped on the grassy ground.

"Cas, dude, you OK?" the older brother asked as he and Sam each grabbed one of Cas's arms to help haul him up.

The angel nodded. "His grounds are warded. I cannot enter." It wasn't bright out, but there was enough light that Sam could make out Cas rolling his eyes at himself. "As you could see." They helped their friend to his feet.

"Looks like I'm going in alone," Dean said. "You two, get the ritual ready."

Dean tucked Ruby's knife into the waistband of his pants and ran toward the house. He was scared nearly shitless, ready to encounter something that would make even the bravest man uneasy, and yet, Dean was charging in headfirst. He was crazy, irrational and a little stupid, but he was Sam's big brother.

#

One day, Dean swore he was going to go to a beach somewhere. Or at least a nice, relaxing lake where he could fish and not care if he caught a damned thing; where Johnny could toddle around—because this was  _his_  fantasy, and in that fantasy, his son walked and called him Dada—in soft grass; where Sammy and Bobby could grill up some burgers and dogs that were brought along "just in case Dean didn't catch anything," which they all knew he wouldn't; where Cas would watch over Johnny, who would suddenly discover earthworms and would stare in awe with the angel at his side detailing the thing's diet and way of movement. One day, Johnny would be a fucking genius, and a large chunk of it would be Cas's doing. He'd learn people skills and awesome music from Dean.

But in his head, in that placid little lake picture, Johnny was still a little boy. And Cas would leave him with Sam and a woman who was probably Emma. He'd walk behind Dean with his fishing pole propped up on the dock and beer in his hand. Cas's hand would swipe between Dean's shoulder blades to get his attention and tell him the burgers were ready and the hunter would smile at him, feel thin fingers move through the hair at the nape of his neck...

Dean shook his head. Well, that little fantasy had gotten awkward quickly. But at least it had gotten him to Lenko's front porch, and he had the code for the alarm from this Frank guy, so getting inside should be fairly easy from this point. That was, it should have been if his hands weren't shaking like leaves in the middle of a hurricane.

_What is it that Sam always jokes about? That I should just go to my "happy place" or some shit like that?_

Well, his happy place had gone all weird on him thanks to all of the touch feely stuff lately and Cas's little confession that he'd left behind some of his Grace in Dean's soul. So, yeah, the happy place was out. He'd tried to interact with people after his brain started fantasizing about them; it didn't work well. And Dean had fantasized about enough people, some far more unwillingly than Cas—like his fifty-nine-year-old American History teacher Mrs. Rutherford—he knew the signs. He was nipping this in the bud now.

And before he knew it, he was inside the door. Maybe that happy place stuff had some merit. It had to, if thinking about  _not_  thinking about it was enough to keep him calm enough to pick a lock.

The house was dark, but Dean could see the glow of the security system in the corner beside the door. He pulled the sleeve of his flannel shirt over his index finger before punching in the code Bobby's friend had given them. More often than not, they were pretty reckless about their fingerprints or leaving behind evidence, but if there ever was a time when that wasn't a good idea, it was now. This guy had dozens of cursed objects in his house and they were about to steal, or rather Dean was about to steal, one of them.

He glanced around the foyer and into the library or parlor, or whatever the room with the guitar had been before this place became Casa de Creepy. The instrument was sitting in the center of the room, taunting him. He still wanted to touch the damned thing, and not because he knew he had to. It probably went back to those days with Pastor Jim, when he or the organist at the church used to sit Dean down, give him a beat-up old guitar and show him a chord or two. If he really thought about it, he could probably still play "You Look Wonderful Tonight" and the opening riff of "Smoke on the Water."

As soon as he gripped the guitar's neck, Dean found himself wanting to play. He only barely resisted the urge. His rational mind—yes, it existed—played into the curse, reminding him that if he got caught, he wouldn't be able to play the guitar more than once, and that curse really wanted him to do that. That meant getting out of the house unnoticed was key.

The hunter made his way toward the front of the house and unlocked and reset the alarm so nothing would seem off until morning when Sam and Dean would hopefully be long gone. The keypad let out a single, tinny beep, and he resisted the urge to imitate it on the guitar. Strangest thing, he suddenly knew exactly what finger on what string on what fret would mimic their sound. That was definitely new.

It also put a halt to his hopeful theory that maybe if he resisted the urge to play the guitar, the curse wouldn't stick. He could already feel the fogginess in his head that he'd thought he'd only experience once in his life, in part because he didn't think he'd get the opportunity to come back after that first deal, then in part because he didn't think he'd be this damned stupid.

Despite himself, Dean found himself running a thumb over the strings on the guitar. He couldn't stop, even as he ran in the general direction of the little graveyard. It was one of those spots that had belonged to a wealthy family that still had enough family members and money to maintain its place despite the suburbs that built up around it. But there was enough cover with the shade of a few trees to hide what the hunters were about to do. Barely.

Dean nearly stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Sam standing next to something. Was it part of the curse? Some creature coming to get him that wasn't actually a hellhound? It was pretty for something that shredded people into tiny bits. It was crazy bright, glowed brighter than those damned fairies. The hunter struggled to make out the actual figure beneath all of that warm and brilliant light.

"Sammy! Behind you!"

His brother glanced back, as did the thing behind him. Sam looked at him curiously and asked Dean what it was that he was seeing. It was only at that point that Dean was finally able to see beyond the glow.

There were wings, big, beautiful wings that glowed with a silver-blue light. Wisps of the light swirled and twisted, alternating that silver-blue with a light yellow-gold. "Dean, do you see hellhounds?" the thing asked, and the voice was rough, but beautiful as fuck. "Dean, you need to come closer. I am as close to Mr. Lenko's property as I can get."

The nearly hysterical laughter that escaped Dean probably scared them both, but he couldn't help it. That indescribable stunning thing of light was  _Cas_. "Dean?" Sam asked, venturing closer to him and extending a hand to check if he was all right.

"Don't touch me, Sammy. I'm just..." He took a few steps closer to them both. "Look, this guitar," he said with a strum of the strings that he couldn't resist. "It isn't the one that triggers at midnight. I'm already piercing the veil." He looked up at Cas, who now was beginning to look more like the familiar face and less like some giant ball of walking light. "Chrysler Building my ass."

The angel's head tilted to the side and those huge wings shifted at his back. "My form is confined to this body. Were it not, it would be that large."

Dean grinned. "Awesome wings, though, man." At those words, he swore that his friend's pearlescent wings actually puffed up at the praise. "Lead me to the pit where we're going to torch this sucker." and he strummed the guitar again.

"Can you stop doing that?" Sam hissed at him.

"Dude, if I could, don't you think I would?" Dean snapped back. He saw the hole that the two had dug between two trees and near some of the century-old tombstones. Dean quickly chucked the stupid instrument in before he started trying to play "Stairway to Heaven."

He tore his gaze away from the instrument and glanced up at Lenko's house to see a light turn on in the upstairs bedroom."of a bitch," he muttered. "You two take care of that. I'm going to go and distract Mr. Weirdo."

"How do you plan to distract him?" Cas asked, and Dean was silent for a few minutes just staring at his friend. He looked like Cas, and yet not. It was like someone had taken Cas, strapped wings to his back and shoved a million-watt lightbulb up his ass, which probably wasn't the most poetic way of describing it, but Sam was more of the poetic Winchester.

When Dean finally tore himself away from those damned blue eyes that were impossibly blue normally and were now as bright as the back of a police cruiser, he remembered that the angel had asked him a question. "How am I going to distract him?" He winced. "Even  _I_  don't want to know that, Cas. Trust me when I say you probably don't either."

He was pretty sure as his friend's wings twitched and his lips turned down into a slight frown that Dean's statement was probably going somewhere in the realm of "weird things Dean says that make absolutely no sense."


	29. In Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to fight, and Dean's still piercing the veil.

_Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased by tales, so is the other._

_Francis Bacon, English philosopher._

Dean ran as quickly as he could toward the house. He saw the man already looking out of the window, which meant that he'd probably heard Dean strumming the guitar. Now they needed a reason for the music, and the hunter was going to have to provide it. He tossed a pebble at the man's window and waited outside. It wasn't exactly standing the man's bedroom window while playing Peter Gabriel from a ginormous 80s boombox, but Dean was pretty sure Lenko would be impressed by the "sentiment."

He just hoped that everyone realized that there was a limit to just how far Dean would "take one for the team."

This would mean that Lenko would know who was responsible for the theft of the guitar and that he and Sam would need to leave town tonight and send their apologies to Andrea later.

The upstairs window opened and Lenko, wearing a black T-shirt, stuck his head out of the window. He looked confused at first, then incredibly pleased. "Dean?" the man asked.

"Hello, Oscar," he called from the ground below. "I managed to slip away from Sam to see you. Do you mind me coming in for a drink or something? I mean, not if I'm imposing."

"Not at all," the man said with a very happy grin.

"I'll meet you at the back door," Dean said, heading for the back of the house. He didn't want to give the man the option to go to the front and possibly spot the missing guitar, so he gave him no time to argue. He stood at the back porch and waited for the yellowish light to flick on and the ghoulish host to get a look at his late night visitor through the back screen door. The way that man practically undressed him with his eyes made Dean's skin crawl. (To each his own, and Dean knew he was a good specimen, but this guy was nasty by any standards.)

"I am a little surprised to see you here," Lenko said as he opened the door and allowed Dean inside.

"Really?" Dean said.  _Busty Asian Beauties._  "Did I completely misread you when I was here before?"

Dean stepped into the kitchen. It had an old look to it, as though Lenko had updated it only as was absolutely necessary. Hunter green walls and dark cabinets adjusted to modern appliances, and Dean had to admit that this was probably the only normal room in the whole house.

"Oh, you didn't misread me. I just wasn't sure I was getting much back from you." Lenko walked over to the stainless steel refrigerator. "I think you mentioned drinks?"

"Beer if you have it," Dean said. "And as for getting anything back from me, I had to be a professional."  _Anna Nicole Smith in the Guess jean ads that got me through ninth grade._

Lenko pulled beer, much to Dean's susprise. He seemed the type to keep wine or liquor, but not something as common as beer. The guy had put on a red velvet robe before greeting Dean at the door. It didn't seem reasonable that the guy would  _actually_  have beer. At least some of the hunter's impression of the man had been right when he realized that this beer, whatever brand it was, required a pop tap. There were no twist-tops here.

Very purposefully, Dean ran his fingertips down the neck of his bottle.  _Gabrielle Union_...  _God, I hope they've got this ritual just about done. They'd better call me as soon as they've lit that son of a bitch up._ "Sam is a stickler for professionalism. He's afraid no one will take the site seriously if we aren't all business."

"So you snuck away just to see me?" Lenko asked, leaning across the counter. The guy was invading closer into his personal space than even Cas usually did, and it was all that Dean could do not to shift backward. At least with Cas it wasn't a completely and totally unwelcome invasion of Dean's personal bubble.

"Something like that," Dean said, and Lenko moved in just a little closer. Dean had never officially placed kissing a freaky guy obsessed with the weird and disturbing, but it was probably implied that it was right up there. Actually, he wasn't sure if he was relieved or not by the sudden sound of howling that made his spine straighten and his hair stand on end.

"What is it?" Lenko asked.

"Did you hear that?"

There was a flicker of something in the greasy little man's eyes at that. "Hear what?" he asked, looking around the room. Dean had always had a sneaking suspicion that the guy had known all along about the people who had died. Now he felt he was seconds away from confirming it.

With the sound of snarling outside the house, Dean felt the adrenaline pumping in his veins. There was the expected fear, and something else he'd really hoped not to feel again.

"Must be my imagination," Dean said with a cough before taking a drink of the beer. It was some kind of microbrew. Really strong, but pretty damned good.

"You were saying..."

The howling came again, and there was a sudden banging on Lenko's door. The short man in his absurd little robe looked Dean levelly in the eyes. "You touched the guitar." Yeah, the bastard knew about the deaths. "When?"

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of goofer dust, which he used to line the door and window. "I did a hell of a lot more than touch it. It should be burning right about now."

He tried not to jump as the hellhounds bounded at the door and slammed against it. "So much for the theory that I'd be exempt. Guess you need an  _active_  contract to avoid those ugly sons of bitches. He didn't bother to look outside the window. He knew what the ugly things looked like.

"You need to get out of here," Lenko said, and it was just about hysterical that the man was actually trying to give him an order.

"Yeah... that ain't happening Besides, you should be safe. You could be trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and these ugly bastards would  _still_  only go after me." Lenko looked at him curiously, and Dean smirked. "At least, until your contract is up."

"How do you know so much about them?" the man asked. Lenko obviously worried that Dean was a demon, like anyone in his situation might have when someone talks about hellhounds like they were his own personal pet. And, a few years ago, that wasn't so far from the truth.

"Name's Dean Winchester," he said as he searched the kitchen for any other points of entry as he heard Lenko's front door being burst open.

"I know that name," he said. "You are the only man to get out of your contract."

"Get out of it?" Dean asked with a laugh. "Only way I got out of it was to fulfill it." The man actually looked sick at the thought. "I did time down in the Pit. If someone with a hell of a lot more power hadn't wanted me more, I'd still be there. Still remember what it felt like, those things tearing through my flesh, opening my chest with their claws, ripping through muscles and tendon on my leg." He huffed in laughter. He could feel the edge in his voice, the desire to torture this man. Alistair had done more than just train him how to cut with a blade. If necessary, he could be especially cruel with his words.

Being cruel as he relived those memories was much better than being afraid.

Somewhere in Dean's mind, his brain was reminding him that he wasn't that thing anymore, that he was a father and a hero—a broken one, perhaps, but he did try to save as many people as he could. The problems were the hounds. His mind had only two reactions available for those things: Fear or... this.

Dean heard something crash outside the kitchen door and he smirked. Was it something of Manson's? Maybe that stupid clown hat?

"Get out of here!" Lenko yelled, now hysterical.

The hunter circled the slimy little man, pulling Ruby's knife from his waistband. "Oh, you should see how they can use these downstairs. But I guess you will." He gave a malicious grin. "Tell me, what did you trade for your soul. Was it worth it? Did you trade it for your hall of horrors here or what?"

Lenko had backed himself into a corner as far from either door as he could get. That was for the best. As much as a part of Dean just wanted to rip into this little son of a bitch, he  _still_  would make sure that Lenko lived through this night. He'd just get the guy started early trying to find a way out of his deal.

"I traded it for money and to appeal to … like-minded men."

"But you left yourself looking like a greasy toad?" Dean asked, incredulously.

"I am comfortable with my body," Lenko said, defensively. In other situations, it might even have been an applaudable statement. Not many people could genuinely say they were comfortable in their own skin. "I just wanted it to matter a little less to other people."

"Do you have any idea how  _stupid_  that is?"

"Do y _ou_  have any idea what a  _hell_  this place was before I did it?"

Dean's phone began buzzing in his pocket, which meant that the curse was finished, but with his usual luck, that didn't, apparently, mean that the hellhounds were leaving. Apparently, they held true to their legends. Once they got your scent, they didn't give that up easily.

"Hey, Sam," he said.

"Curse ended. There was this huge shockwave when we did it, so we're pretty sure it worked."

"That's great," Dean said, "but the hellhounds didn't get the message. I've got about couple of them outside the door."

"Lenko there with you?"

"Yeah. He knows who I am now, but he's busy trying not to piss himself in the corner. So, you know, I wouldn't turn down some backup."

He no sooner heard Sam telling Cas that Dean was surrounded by hellhounds than he heard something outside fighting them. He wasn't going to let the angel have all the fun. Especially when Dean wasn't sure that Cas could see the disgusting things. The hunter opened the door with Ruby's knife in hand and began hacking and slashing at the things. That was, after he pushed through the initial shock that stopped him dead in his tracks for a split second upon seeing those things again.

There was something cathartic in the fact that he could attack these monsters for once while actually seeing them. They were just as ugly as he'd remembered, and God did it feel good to make them uglier, followed by very, very dead. The smell wasn't much better, either. Dean had thought maybe outside of the Pit, they wouldn't reek of sulfur and the wet dog ass. He didn't know why he had assumed that. He should have remembered from the first time around that the sons of bitches reeked in hell or earth.

He turned around, trying as hard as he could not to be distracted by the whipping trenchcoat or the glowy wings. He watched as one of those snarling things crouched low, nearly pressing its matted, slimy belly to the floor. Its haunches twitched and Dean instantly followed the hound's would-be trajectory.

"Cas, behind you!" he yelled out to his friend. The angel whirled around with his angel blade and stabbed the monster in the head, straight through the skull. The sickening crack that echoed through Lenko's hall of horrors was proof enough of Cas's strength. As Dean dodged a set of yellowed and sharp teeth, he thought,  _One more reason why a person shouldn't piss off the nerd angels._

One of the things swiped at Cas's trenchcoat, and Dean figured he'd dwell later on why the thought of them ripping up that stupid coat pissed him off so much. Because it really did more than it rationally should have. In retaliation, he got the thing in the heart with Ruby's knife and used his other hand to punch another of the beasts square in the eye.

He remembered that one. It had been Alistair's pet in the Pit. Dean had been ripped to parts more than once by those teeth and those claws. It had only one eye, and Dean was fairly sure the other might have been on the necklace Alistair wore down in the pit. He didn't know if that was the only way to get one of these to fully submit or not, and he didn't have any desire to learn. But he knew this one and took far too much pleasure in carving it up in return for the number of times it feasted on him on the rack.

It was an ugly side of his own nature that was coming out with each fluid movement of the demon knife, and he was fairly sure he was operating on muscle memory—or whatever the soul equivalent was. In his head, he knew he shouldn't have enjoyed killing these things as much as he did, but these monsters had been a pain in his ass for too damned long. They may not have been the one to give the finishing blow, but they killed Jo and Ellen, as far as he was concerned. Crowley had used the things to guard his compound, even kept one of the bastards as a pet. They'd been the frontline in battles way too often, and those bastards cost him way too fucking much.

Yeah, Dean was damned glad that he could finally get back a little of his own.

Dean had become so accustomed to Cas as the awkward man in the trenchcoat or even the all powerful being who could zap a baddie with a touch of his hands or a demonstration of his true form—which Dean could still see, though it was fading, just as the hellhounds' shapes were getting blurrier. What the hunter had nearly forgotten, though, was that Cas was created to be a warrior, and he was a damned good one, too. He was a total badass when it came to fighting hand-to-hand.

Of course, Dean wasn't a slouch, either. And with invisibility, the hounds' biggest advantage after razor-sharp teeth and claws and immense size and strength, no longer an issue, Dean was doing some serious ass kicking himself. Cas wasn't able to just eliminate the things like he had the skinwalkers with a single bright light, but together they were quickly making puppy chow out of the hounds.

As they were finally down to just the final creature in the house Dean still wasn't sure that Cas couldn't see the things. It was about a second from ripping the hunter's arm completely off when the angel lobbed his blade at the thing. The short sword went right for the creature's chest, but it must have missed anything vital, because the monster was right back at Dean a moment later. Unfortunately for that hellhound, Dean had regained his bearings and was making use of the last of his blurry veil-piercing vision to make sure Ruby's knife hit at least one, maybe two, vital organs.

And then it got silent. No more hellhounds in the hallway, no more growling outside, just the sound of Sam yelling for Dean to confirm he was OK. The older brother moved toward the door and yelled back some reassurances before slumping against the wall in mental and physical exhaustion. All of the adrenalin was fading, along with the image he'd had of Cas's glowing figure.

The wings were still there, and when the angel neared to be sure that the man was unharmed, Dean couldn't help himself from trying to touch the feathery things. Dean was pretty sure he touched something, but he couldn't have said exactly what. He became even more certain that he'd just felt Cas's wings when the angel stood stock still and stared at Dean with wide eyes.

"Seriously, though, Cas. Your wings really  _are_  pretty." Because his vocabulary was too damned stunted to come up with a better word.

And just before they faded from view, those feathered appendages again puffed up in pride.


	30. Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas helps Dean get some sleep. Bobby becomes a father. Sort of.

" _The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof."_

_Richard Bach, Illusions._

Castiel sat with Sam and Dean at the diner, choosing a slice of pie for himself. Dean was no longer seeing his wings or shades of the angel's true form, and Castiel assumed it was for the best. It has apparently distracted the hunter. Dean and Sam had already called Bobby as well as Andrea and Lucas. It was fairly obvious that, despite the obvious signs that he was exhausted, Dean was not going to sleep any time soon and there was still the possibility that a hellhound might have slipped through their fingers. Going to the diner was perhaps the best solution until exhaustion took over for the hunters and it became obvious there were no other beasts after the brothers tonight.

As Castiel dug his fork into a slice of blueberry pie, he could not help noticing Dean looked pleased by his choice. That may have been in part due to the fact that the angel had left the solitary slice of apple for his friend, knowing it was his favorite. He did not, however, think that the pie was all of his reason for looking so happy, even if it was layered with the impact of having once again faced down one of his greatest and more rational fears.

No, Dean had looked quite happy from the moment he had seen Castiel's wings and even more so from the time he tried to touch them. The angel still could not understand why Dean insisted upon calling them "pretty." By angel standards, they were rather plain. The archangels and Metatron had several; other angels had larger or more iridescent wings and feathers. Castiel had been made to be a warrior, and he was under not impression that he was anything more than expendable. There had never been any need for his father to make him as awe-inspiring as his brothers.

And yet, Dean had found his wings impressive, had called them "pretty," which wasn't a word that typically left the hunter's mouth. While Castiel would have written off those words from any other human as a stunned sentiment founded in a lack of experience with angels, Dean had ample interaction with the supernatural. He had seen some truly awesome—in the more traditional sense of the word—things.

Yet, he was still talking about the glimpse he had gotten of Castiel's true form.

"It was so weird to see those wings moving right behind him.. They just whipped around behind him while he took down that big hellhound like a freaking badass."

The angel poked at his pie while he tried to ignore that a part of himself was practically preening from Dean's praise. Castiel did not like that he could detect a shift in his interactions with the hunter, in how he reacted to Dean. The last time that the angel could recall caring so much about what another thought of him it had been his Father. And, as Bobby would say, that turned out so well.

"It was nice, though, to finally take a few of those sons of bitches out, though. I swear I remember the one... Cas..." The angel turned his eyes up from his pie and met Dean's mossy green ones. "You know the one I'm talking about. The one with the messed up eye?"

"I could not see them. Only sense them."

Dean blinked. "Oh? Huh." He grinned. "Then you're all the more badass. You couldn't see a thing and you kicked ass and took names."

"I took no... Oh, it is a saying."

The older brother gave him a grin. "You're catching on." There was that pride again, that odd fluttering in his stomach. "But, yeah. The one hellhound, I'm pretty sure, had been one of Alistair's pets."

Dean picked up what was left of the crust of his pie and ate it while looking quite content. Though Castiel found the rear part of the pie the most decorative and least appetizing part of the dessert if it wasn't eaten alongside some of the filling, Dean seemed to like to save it until last and eat it with only what small coating of the filling clung to its side.

"I know that we promised to meet these other hunters Andrea has been talking to," Sam said, "but you haven't heard anything from Bobby about another hunt, have you?"

"Got somewhere to be, Princess?" Dean asked before finishing off his pie, then licking the pads of his finger and thumb. Castiel found his eyes unintentionally drawn to the wet, pink thing as it darted out between his lips again to catch any lost crumbs.

"Apparently, Emma's mother wants to meet me."

"Meeting the parents already, Sam?"

"Her mom is protective of her. For good reason."

Dean's grin fell and he frowned. It was very easy for him, it seemed, to forget about the attack Emma had once suffered. Castiel found it only served to emphasize why she managed to handle her own with Sam and Dean. The angel wanted to presume nothing about how her relationship with Sam might progress, but he did think she had the makings of a Winchester.

"Emma's hoping to stay with us and help with Johnny's birthday next month," Sam said, and the somber tone was now replaced by a contented smile.

Dean washed a hand over his face. "I can't believe he's going to be one. I mean, I know I've only had him a month, or nearly that, but it doesn't feel like it's been more than a couple days." He shifted on the seat and loosely propped his arm on the back of the booth, which he had all to himself. "Though, with a Fourth of July birthday, kid's going to always have fireworks. Bet he'll think they're for him." Dean grinned at his brother. "He already has an Uncle Sam, too."

Said uncle gave an unimpressed look, which was undermined by a sudden yawn.

"I guess we should get back to Andrea's," Dean said.

Sam stood and Dean snatched the bill from the table. "Go out to the Impala. I'll take care of this." Sam offered an appreciative expression to his brother before leaving the diner.

The angel followed Dean to the cash register and waited for the lone waitress to finish catering to a table of college students who looked as though they had been using some questionable substances, if their bloodshot eyes, delayed responses, regular giggles and desire to order everything off the menu was anything to go by.

"I think I touched your wings tonight. Sorry if that's, you know, off limits."

Castiel shook his head. "I am merely unaccustomed to them being in contact with something in this plane. It happened on the rare occasion they are between them or, as tonight, something else is."

"They were still really awesome," the hunter said. "And you were all... glowy."

"You might say differently if you saw my brothers'."

"Doubt it. I don't like most of your brothers."

"I do not see how disliking my brethren makes a difference about the appearance of my wings."

Dean shrugged. "Just does with things sometimes."

The angel made a small noise in the back of his throat. "As some of your traits are annoying in other people but I am... fond of them in you."

The hunter gave him a curious look. "I have learned better about asking people to dissect my personality, so unless you're going to tell me that it's my ass or my freckles or something, I don't want to hear it."

Castiel considered that comment and the appropriate way of answering. "I believe your posterior would be tolerable on anyone, though perhaps your freckles. Some people have the most unusual patterns, but I find yours pleasing to the eye."

At those words, Castiel thought he saw a red color come to Dean's cheeks. They were fairly close to the kitchen area, so it was slightly warmer. Yet he began to think that he may have embarrassed his friend unintentionally. The only reason he chose not to apologize was because he had learned not to call attention to emotional subjects with Dean.

However, the angel knew he should address the fact that the man was not likely to rest well after facing down hellhounds. "Dean, if you would like, I can make sure you have a restful sleep tonight."

The waitress had finally finished taking the orders from the twenty-somethings and was now at the cash register looking at the hunter and the angel with a disapproving frown. The woman who had been so happily flirting with the hunters and even the angel throughout the meal was now quite icy to them. Castiel could sense why she was taking such issue to them, and it seemed that his friend had picked up on the change in demeanor even without the abilities the angel possessed.

Castiel's interactions with Dean had begun after his time in hell and Castiel had no opportunity to know how his friend would have handled this situation prior to their interactions with Emma's young friend. However, it was obvious now that this woman's behavior has bothered him. Dean handed her the money and told her to keep the change, but rather than hastily explain that he and Castiel were not a couple, and that she was misreading the entire situation, he wrapped his arm around the angel's waist. "Come on, Babe, let's get out of here."

The angel's hip collided with his friend's, and this time, it was Castiel whose face turned red, though he did not feel embarrassed and warmth seemed to be localized to his cheeks and stomach.

"Normally, Cas, I'd say to let me deal with this on my own, but you know, for tonight ..." He pointed at him as he opened the door to the outside. "Just tonight."

"I understand, Dean."

#

Bobby leaned against the counter drinking his coffee and silently praying to one of few angels he had found he could tolerate. When the sound of wings signaled the angel's appearance, he tried not to be surprised when a young teenager stood in front of him. He got the impression that this guy had a strong affinity toward humans, so Bobby had trouble understanding why he'd take the body of a kid.

"Vessel's a little young, isn't it?"

Metatron shoved his hands in the pockets of his black jeans and shrugged. "He is my descendant and was willing. More than willing." Bobby couldn't help but notice the angel was now sporting a French accent, which gave a good clue that the native language of the vessel left an imprint on the angel or demon inside it. It was something Bobby had wondered about, given that Crowley had originally been Scottish. The young figure walked over to the hunter's refrigerator and pulled out an apple.

"That's all the qualification you need?"

"I refuse to share personal details that my vessel entrusted me with," Metatron said, "but suffice to say, there were a number of very legitimate reasons why this boy had been on the verge of suicide when I approached him."

Bobby didn't want to guess and he didn't need to ask details.

With a snap of the apple's flesh, Metatron took a bite and asked with his mouth full, "I am sure you didn't invite me down here just to chat about my vessel. Is something wrong, Mr. Singer?"

"I know Balthazar had no issues creating some forged documents, or are they even forged if you do it?"

"I think that's a matter of semantics. Totally legal, totally binding, but not necessarily true." Metatron smiled. "Are you asking me to create some semi-fake documents for you?"

"If you don't mind," Bobby said after swallowing a cup of hot coffee. "I get the impression you've got a little more conscience than Balthazar."

The former human smirked but looked genuinely fond of the blond angel. "You can hardly blame him for that. He was God's last trial run for humanity."

Bobby's eyebrows must have met with his hairline at that. "He created Balthazar and thought, 'Gee I'd like to have more like that?'" Truthfully, the idea that Balthazar was one of God's attempts at perfecting-if that word could be used for it-humanity wasn't so surprising. The angel was actually very human. The problem was that he had so few of the good human traits.

"Balthazar hasn't always been like that. He used to be much more like the other angels. And, as I said, he was the  _last_  not  _only_  trial run," Metatron sat at Bobby's table and gently pushed a little toy that suctioned itself to the tray on Johnny's high chair. "And the second to last was a very refreshing contrast to Balthazar."

"And who was that?"

"Castiel, of course," and though the hunter was sure that it wasn't unintentional, the French accent of Metatron's vessel made it sound just a bit snide. He took a bite of his apple and watched Bobby carefully. "You didn't know he's one of the littlest angels? At least, the real angels. I have been told many times that I don't count."

"Can't say that I did, but it make sense." From how the archangels addressed him to how he began to doubt and feel and get crazy protective over Dean and now Johnny.

"So what sort of paperwork do you need forged?" he asked, finishing the fruit and throwing the core into the garbage.

"A birth certificate and a few other things to make someone exist."

"Are you looking to adopt a bouncing baby boy?"

"Littlest or not, he ain't a baby, and I don't think I could bounce him if I tried."

"While I might have more of a conscience," Metatron said, "in a situation like this, I don't mind a little document doctoring."

"Do you mind me asking," Bobby said, "while I've got you here, how exactly a normal human becomes an angel?" The boy in front of him gave a smirk that betrayed the age of the creature inside of him. "I'm not looking for a job. Just curious."

"Not easily," Metatron said with a grimace, and Bobby thought better of it than to ask what that meant. "The process burned up my body and meant I had to have my soul combined with Grace."

"So God made you a hybrid?"

"Something like that. You could even say I'm a green product. Recycled materials."

"Whose Grace did you get?" Bobby didn't think that it was an answer he necessarily wanted to hear.

Metatron gave him a wry look that once again didn't belong on the dark-haired, blue eyed boy that was seated at the table. "Azazel's. God was sending a clear message that he wouldn't be back."

"Amen to that," Bobby said, slightly wary of what that yellow-eyed bastard's Grace could do to someone. "Any side effects?"

"Weirdly enough, my eyes end up turning yellow from time to time." He gave a chuckle to let the hunter know he was kidding. He gave the baby's toy another bump with his finger before standing.

"It's a shame they don't make more angels out of humans. You're downright tolerable."

"That's high praise coming from you," Metatron said. "And the powers that be are considering it." He gave Bobby a small nod. "Thank you for the apple. I will have all of the documents necessary to name your new son. Given that he's not likely to age, I'm going to make him thirty-two. That way, he should have longer before people begin to think it's odd he still looks so young. The impact on Johnny shouldn't be so bad. He'll be just about ready to graduate by the time anyone notices one of his dads isn't quite old enough."

The thought of the little baby upstairs as a teenager did odd things to Bobby's head and his chest. He by no means wanted the boy to grow up any time soon, but it was an entertaining thought that the boy might one day ramble around the scrapyard helping his dad piece together a car awesome enough he would want it for his own. Bobby wasn't sure he'd live to see it, since that would put him well into his 70s, and he was already a relic by hunter standards.

"Thanks for the help," he said to the angel before his brain went much further down that depressing path.

#

Dean knew Cas was hovering, was well aware he was as he felt the angel's weight dipping the futon. "Go ahead," he said, not necessarily because he was ready for sleep but because he wanted this lingering to end. "Use your mojo."

He closed his eyes and waited for the feeling of those warm fingers against his temple. When they came, Dean felt sleep quickly overtaking him. At first, he could feel the warm, stale breath of the hellhounds at his face, the rotting smell of death in those puffs of hellfire-hot air.

And then he was at the lake again. He had his fishing rod propped up in front of him and his eyes were closed in relaxation. He could sense the presence at his side before he could actually see it. "Hey, Cas," he said with his eyes still closed. He patted the seat of a chair beside him. Dean wasn't entirely sure that it had been there before, but it didn't matter. It was there now. "Have a seat."

Awkwardly, the angel planted himself on the Adirondack chair next to Dean's. The hunter held out a beer bottle to him, and Castiel took it with some hesitation. "We've got to find a brand that you like."

"Dad! Uncle Cas!" Footsteps clattered along the weathered wood of the dock and Dean turned around to see Johnny, this time about five or so years old. He had a mop of strawberry blond hair that hung straight and into his eyes just a bit, and he wore a T-shirt emblazoned with Led Zepplin across the front, Icarus along with it. "Can I fish, too?"

"Sure, little guy," Dean said, pulling his son onto his lap and showing him the finer points of casting. It wasn't the easiest, with Dean providing a little added support alongside Johnny's left arm and right hand. Cas might have had to duck once or twice, but Johnny improved with each subsequent attempt. The boy grinned when he finally got the line out into the water and started to reel it in again. "No, no." Dean placed his hand over small fingers. "Now you wait. Every so often, turn it just a little, enough to make the fish think that it's still alive. But if you see that round thing move, you need to start reeling that fish in."

"Okay, Daddy," Johnny said, settling to stand between Dean's legs. His green eyes focused intently on the bobber sitting atop the water. The man noticed that the boy's level of attention was comparable to the angel at his side. Dean glanced up at his friend to see him staring with something akin to affection at the boy currently trying to maintain his fishing line. Dean didn't know what he'd done to deserve someone to help so much and care so much about the boy.

Cas glanced over at Dean and the hunter offered him a broad and contented smile. As though it was the most natural thing in the world here at the lake where Sam and Bobby were firing up a grill and Emma was feeding a baby, Dean grabbed hold of the angel's hand and threaded their fingers together. He only barely noted the look of surprise on Castiel's face.


	31. Virtual Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, Dean and Sam get some long-overdue thanks and Cas makes another trip to Wal-Mart.

" _We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."_

_Fydor Dostoevsky, Russian author_

Morning came much too early for Dean, and he wasn't looking forward to opening his eyes to uncover the identity of the body he was currently wrapped around. In the back of his mind, he already knew, and he knew that in waking up, he would ruin this whole warm cocoon that he had going on. He had dreamed of the lake repeatedly through the night, rather than hellhounds. He remembered fishing and barbecue and pie. Johnny and Cas.

It had been one of the more pleasant dreams he'd had in a long while. The fact that he was pretty sure Cas had been poking around in his head while he slept was weird, but at the moment, Dean was more concerned with the fact that he didn't remember every detail of his dream other than having the general idea that maybe he had been too relaxed in his dream state.

He vaguely remembered dream-him taking Cas's hand, and he really hoped his friend had been an outside observer, if he'd seen that at all. Dean didn't know what had possessed him to do it, he just knew he'd done it. It probably came from the whole direction his "happy place" had been going over the last few days, and he could only pray that his mind kept things G-rated. Because he  _so_  did not want to have that conversation with Cas about how the subconscious mind sometimes does things that the conscious mind doesn't want and/or that it wouldn't normally do.

That would be more difficult to explain when he was pretty sure his head was now resting on the angel's chest, his arm was around his waist and a leg was thrown over pants-clothed ones. Dean slowly withdrew from his friend's warmth and pretended to rally from sleep. If Cas realized that the man was awake long before he began this show, the angel didn't comment, and for that, Dean could be grateful.

He rubbed at his eyes to clear them of the haze of sleep and then scratched lightly at his chest as he shifted upward in the bed. "Mornin' Cas," he said before yawning.

"Good morning, Dean." There was no awkwardness in Castiel's voice. At least, no more than usual.

Dean was grateful that his friend had the common sense not to make a big deal of the fact that, once again, the hunter had wound himself around his friend like some kind of koala. He was also grateful that as far as Dean could tell, Cas was just his normal, awkward self, and they weren't going to have to have some talk about feelings or the fact that Dean remembered, at the very least, taking hold of his friend's—or his brain's version of his friend's—hand in the middle of his dream.

His brain sucked sometimes. That was all there was to it.

Dean really didn't want to dwell on how nice last night had been, particularly when it should have been a living hell. He didn't want to start into the fact that it had been more than a year since he'd been able to just curl his body around someone else's and enjoy not having to sleep alone for once. Allowing his mind to go there could lead to nothing good. It would be confusing and awkward and fairly pathetic on his part.

"Thanks for, well, sticking around."  _And letting me cling to you like my life depended on it._

"I told you that I would. And it was not unpleasant for me." Dean's eyes widened a fraction. Was Cas talking about the pieces of the dream that Dean could remember; the hunter's inability  _not_  to throw himself over a warm body; or something from the night before that hadn't registered in the hunter's brain. "Your imagined version of Johnny is not wholly inaccurate. I believe he will look much like that as he grows older. You even took account for his hand, where some parents' subconscious might have been inclined to 'fix' a perceived wrong."

"Nothing wrong to fix," Dean said, immediately. "You said so yourself."

Cas gave a short nod. "You are... more tactile in sleep than awake."

The hunter was fairly sure his face was suddenly feeling warm for a reason. He wasn't supposed to blush like he was some awkward teenager, but this situation wasn't supposed to happen to a man who was so long past being an awkward teenager, either. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Been that way since Sammy and I had to share a bed as kids."

"I did not mean in just the bed. You are much more open with affection in your dreams as well. It did not require a near-death experience for you to hug Sam or Bobby." Cas cleanly avoided that Dean was pretty sure he'd been touchy-feely with the angel, too, and the hunter knew he shouldn't go poking that particular beehive with a stick.

"No consequences in a dream, Cas. It's easy to be different inside your own head." He shoved the blankets aside and slid out of the warm bed."And you never know what could carry over from the waking world, either. Since one of the last things I did before settling down for the night was piss off the waitress by playing lovey-dovey with you, things could have been really 'affectionate' if my mind had gone down that path."

Okay, so a little poking and a little dishonesty-since he knew for a fact that his happy place had been betraying him long before the waitress-just to remind them both that a person couldn't be blamed for having a traitorous mind.

"Understandable," Cas said, standing and straightening his trenchcoat. "Johnny is rallying. I should see to him." And with that, he was gone. Dean hoped he hadn't insulted the guy.

He didn't have time to consider it before there was a knock on the office door. "Come in, Sam," he said. He didn't doubt it was his brother. He knew the knock too well from its sound to its rhythm. When he saw his brother on the other side, the guy looked like he was sporting a serious geek hard-on about something. "Dean, you really need to see this. We have been totally underestimating Andrea."

The older brother raised an eyebrow, pulled on some pants, and then walked out into the hallway to glance into the livingroom. What he saw there was amazing, even by his own technologically ignorant standards. The setup that now dominated the room would be for Sam what an all-pie buffet would be for Dean. A second TV had been added to the room and several computer towers were linked together, probably for some kind of processing power or something. Dean never really questioned much when it came to computers. As long as it got him where he needed, he never really worried about speed, capability and high definition-unless you were talking porn; then he was all about the high-def.

Sam, though, he had always cared about that kind of stuff, and he looked so happy, Dean thought he might wet himself. The older brother waved good morning to Andrea while she and the Sasquatch were busy talking Megahertz and Terabytes. It all sounded about as foreign to Dean as when his brother had gone through that dinosaur obsession in elementary school. Even the words sounded vaguely similar (read: really weird and probably Latin). He let the nerds geek out while he made his way to the kitchen.

"My mom might not ever let Sam get away," Lucas said as he finished pouring milk into his Lucky Charms.

"I'd say she could have him, but it just wouldn't be fair to her." He grabbed the box of cereal and a bowl from the drying rack. "Sure, he's adorable in the short term, but if you spend enough time around him, you find out how annoying he can be." Lucas offered a small smile.

"Look, um, what Mom's got lined up might be a little overwhelming. Just try to remember it really can be a good thing, and it's sort of a very big 'thank you.' for everything you do." That was more than Lucas had said in one go about anything not case-related, and it sort of worried the hunter.

"Hunters don't get thank yous," Dean said before shoveling the sugar-high-inducing cereal into his mouth. It was as good and as sweet as he remembered it from childhood.

"Well, they do now," Lucas said. The teen swirled his cereal around in his bowl. "It's way overdue."

"So, I'm guessing you've been reading the books, too?" Dean asked before taking a heaping spoonful of the cereal and shoving as much of it that would fit into his mouth.

"Yeah. But I skim some of them," Lucas said. "No offense, but reading the scenes with you or Sam hooking up with someone is about as gross as reading about your dad's sex life, you know?"

Dean laughed, then had a thought. "That's not in there, is it? Wait, no, I don't want to know."

"Your dad's...? No it's not in there. Closest you get in the books is that he was hanging out at Missouri's place."

Dean groaned. "You did not need to put that image into my head."

The boy chuckled and offered an apology that Dean didn't think he really meant. They went back to eating their breakfast in silence. Lucas had a little more in the way of table manners than Dean did, considering the hunter practically scraped the paint off of the bowl as he finished it and every last drop of milk. He did follow Lucas's example, however, when he placed the bowl in the sink and filled it with water.

The teen waited for Dean to make his way into the living room before going in after him. Dean wondered if he had been made to go first because Lucas was afraid he'd run away. When he came back in, he very nearly did.

When Andrea had told them that she had a network of hunters, she hadn't been lying. Image after image was appearing on the screen as one webcam after another logged on and filled with a face, and in most cases, those faces looked vaguely familiar.

Almost as though she knew they had been talking about her and she probably did, damn her, Missouri was giving Dean, and damned if it wasn't focused wholly on him, a disapproving look. In another corner was Johnny Pulaski, the asshole that he and Sam had saved last year at the cost of an innocent woman. Smiling at them from her apartment complete with a view of the Baltimore skyline was Detective Diana Ballard. Jesse Turner, who had to be a teenager now, was sitting inside an unusually vacant coffee shop, but with his abilities, making a place empty wasn't probably that hard. Martin Creaser was to his right and didn't seem so crazy now. The whole Collins family—which now included a new man and woman and baby that Dean didn't recognize—was smiling from some outdoor locale; apparently, they were still using satellite technology to keep in touch. Gary Frankel was giving a sheepish look, and damned if he didn't still deserve to do it, taking Sam's body like he had. In the bottommost screen, Lori Sorenson was arguing with Kat Allen; Dean would have thought they would have had enough of the Supernatural after the hookman and asylum. Rob Paulsen of the Lutheran militia looked weary and like he'd aged about ten years in just over two. Jamie, the hot Oktoberfest waitress was giving a happy grin from what looked like a hotel room, and seated next to her was Lindsey Carpenter, the girl who'd had her roommate brought back from the dead. Susan Thompson was sitting next to a teenaged girl that must have been her daughter Tyler. Dean's dad's old buddy Deacon looked to be borrowing the prison computer, if the bland wall behind him was anything to go by. However, Sam was staring at the upper right edge of the screen. Dean could see Charley Doolan in the corner, looking to be in a cheap college apartment.

Then Dean realized who had Sam's attention. Sarah Blake was smiling at the two from the portion of the screen beside Charley.

On the main screen was a very large image of a young man. "Looks like I drew the short straw and have to talk to you two first." The guy had a sarcastic tone to his voice, but he wore an easy smirk that really could have made Dean proud if he weren't so overwhelmed by the familiar faces now on the other screen. "I bet you don't have a clue who I am, you two queens." And while the name had been so basic and the man so different that, no, Dean hadn't recognized him. That single phrase had given him away, just like Michael had counted on.

"The Shtriga," he said.

"No way you're the kid from Wisconsin," Sam said.

"Nope. I'm the man from Wisconsin, now."

"And you're a hunter?" Dean asked, because it was almost sickening to think that they had introduced this boy to the supernatural world and he had embraced rather than run away from it.

"Baby stuff. I'm a student at the University of Wisconsin now, so I don't have time to go on a big hunt. I take care of the odd ghost or cursed object. Last summer, though the Collinses—or is it Collins?-took a few of us along for a Wendigo hunt." The family out in the woods smiled and waved to make sure that Dean and Sam acknowledged them. "Mostly I research."

Dean couldn't help it as he stared at the television screen. There was no way, no logical reason for this young man to possibly be the kid who'd been so obnoxious to the brothers and so brave in dealing with the Shtriga. "We shouldn't have gotten you involved."

There was a scoff through the speakers. "My kid brother was in danger and that thing was going to come after me next. Of course I was going to be involved. Idiot." The guy folded his arms across his chest. "Unless you're telling me you'd do something less for Sam."

"So all of you, after trying to keep you from having to face down the supernatural, you're doing it willingly?" Dean asked.

"Of course we are," Andrea answered instead of the blond man on her TV. You two shouldn't do this alone, and though some of us lost a lot because of the things we encountered, not all of us did. Why should hunters only be the people seeking revenge or desperate because they have nothing left? Why can't they be like you and Sam are now, hunting because it's the right thing to do?"

"I think you'll find we fall into those first two categories," Dean said.

"You killed Azazel, defeated the fucking devil and told the dicks in heaven to sit on it and spin." Michael's colorful way of talking obviously hadn't been improved with age and an increased vocabulary. "You should be sitting in some hunter retirement community, but you're still going around saving people. You're not doing it for revenge anymore."

The kid-because to Dean he always would be a kid-had a point, but that didn't mean he wanted to see the people he'd tried to keep away from this life wrapped up in it. There were some, like that asshole Johnny or Rob who had some redeeming to do, but people like Andrea and Lucas, Michael and 90 percent of the other people he saw on the screen, Dean had wanted them to stay away.

"Don't look so upset, Dean," Michael said. "My kid brother's completely oblivious and going to start high school, I'm a full time student in college, and I got to meet my girlfriend trolling the Supernatural message boards. God, I love to mess with those little fangirls' heads. So stop fucking apologizing." He gave a toothy grin. "Answer my questions instead."

Michael asked about things ranging from what spoilers the brothers could provide to irritate the fangirls to what it was that made Sam such an ass in the most recent books.

Dean had to admit some gratitude to Andrea, who was quick to place her hand on Sam's hand to comfort him when questions of his soulless period were asked. That was one of the pluses of a woman, Dean thought; she could get away with that when neither brother really could, not that anyone ever accused them of being the most emotionally open man in the world, either.

Michael joked that it looked like his time was up and that others wanted to speak with them. Dean didn't argue and waited for the next blast from the past, then the next, and the next...

One after another, these victims-turned-hunters (or in the case of some, like Andrea, information gatherers and alibis) spoke to the brothers, thanked them, and in the case of some, apologized. There were updates, from Rob's wife killing herself last year, to two marriages and a baby in the Collins family to Jesse keeping nearly all of Australia bad monster-free. Kat and Lori were arguing because Lori was too driven, to the point of seeming to have a death wish or be criminally stupid.

They were all doing what they did so that Dean and Sam didn't have to go it alone. One look at his younger brother told Dean that the softie was touched by the gesture. As for the other brother, it just pissed him off.

When they were down to the final two, Sarah Blake and Missouri, Dean excused himself to the kitchen after a polite "hello" so his brother could have a private chat with the woman who could have been. He signaled for Andrea to do the same. Lucas had left the room earlier to avoid an awkward discussion between Dean and Jamie.

"Your brother has a girlfriend, doesn't he?" she asked when they reached the refrigerator.

"Yeah," Dean said, "But Sara's the one that got away, and he's going to have to come to terms with that or make a decision about Emma. Old flames burn a hell of a long time."

Andrea smiled as she got out the pitcher of iced tea and poured them both a glass. "That was almost poetic."

"I have my moments. I  _am_  the charmer."

Andrea chuckled as she handed over his glass of tea. "Yes. You are."

"But I don't like this." He gestured to her living room. "I know you all think this is some kind of big show of gratitude to us, but it's really not. We saved you from the stuff that goes bump in the night. We wanted you to consider yourselves lucky that you'd survived your brush with monsters or ghosts or whatever and just move on. Instead, you're turning in the other direction and waving a big red flag at the goddamned bull!"

Andrea let him rant, saying nothing until he was done. "And until the federal government establishes the bureau of creepy things and names you chief, you don't get to choose who does and does not become a hunter." She didn't raise her voice, but Dean got the distinctive impression that she wasn't backing down, either. Pour Lucas and Dana didn't stand a chance against her.

Her tone softened and she gently placed a hand on Dean's arm. "You're a dad now, Dean. Tell me that you don't want to be able to go to PTA meeting, watch him play sports or do some school pageant or talent show."

"Of course I do," he said.

"Then be grateful that you and Sam aren't the only game in town anymore."

Dean leaned against the counter and took a long drink of his tea. "You should know I won't like letting other people get hurt just so that I can go to a little league game." And, as he said it, it hit Dean that little league might be possible but most likely difficult for his son. Maybe soccer or place kicker would be better. It made his mind lose its train of thought and the hold he'd had on his anger. Fuck if being a parent wasn't diminishing a little of his normal hunter's drive. "But I will keep it in mind."

"Wise choice, Dean," Andrea said.

They were having a very nice moment until the sound of a familiar, motherly voice came from the living room. "That is enough in the kitchen, you two. She's a married woman, Dean."

He groaned and headed back out to the room with the large computer. "I'm not doing a thing, Missouri." He flopped on the sofa and eyed the woman who had the ability to make him feel four years old again.

"Just making sure. Fatherhood suits you, Dean." The woman looked at him disappointedly. "It's good to see that you two are in one piece." Her eyes narrowed. "Since you  _never call."_ What was it with the mother figures in his life complaining about a lack of contact when they  _knew—_ particularly in Missouri's case—that they were just a little  _busy?_  "But that doesn't much matter now. Because we're going to get plenty of quality time."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the screen. "What do you mean 'quality time?'"

"Don't you give me that look, boy," Missouri said, pointing a finger at him. "You don't want to spend time with a person, then call 'em up at least once in six or seven years."

"Where did you want us to go?" Sam asked. "Back to Lawrence?"

That was what Dean was afraid of, that he'd have to go back there. Returning the once had been bad enough. He hadn't needed the additional trip to Stull cemetery, so close to the place that had formerly been home.

"Don't you worry about that. I will be going to a festival in New York next month, and you will be coming along with me." Dean wondered just what the hell was so special about a festival to drag Missouri from Kansas all the way to New York and also made it so important that the brothers go. "Bring your angel and the little one, too. I'm dying to see your boy, Dean."

"We don't get a choice in this, do we?" Dean asked.

"Do you  _think_  you get a choice in this?" The woman asked from the screen. Dean had enough common sense to know that didn't really deserve an answer. He knew what the right one was and he knew what he  _wished_  it was. Unfortunately, they weren't the same.

#

Finding himself once again at Wal-Mart, Castiel thought it would be an easier trip than the first. However, he had failed to account for the lack of Dean's grounding presence and how Bobby insisted that the angel did not need to explain to everyone that he wasn't Johnny's father. It was an instinctual response, but he tried his best to quash it.

It didn't help, either, that the angel was fairly distracted by what had happened in Dean's dream. Dean seemed to remember some things, but perhaps not all. Every time the hunter sat down, he left an empty space for Castiel, even the others in his dream seemed to assume that the angel would take his place at his friend's side. Dean was quick to take his hand or place his own calloused palm over Castiel's thin knee. If the hunter stood, he would let his hand linger of the angel's shoulder. Once, to get Castiel's attention, he had placed his fingers in Castiel's hair and affectionately rubbed at his scalp.

The touches were unusual and unfamiliar, and Castiel just couldn't stop thinking about them. Combined with the warmth in Dean's eyes and how easily the corners crinkled with easy smiles, the angel simply couldn't focus on a trip to Wal-Mart for supplies.

They had, originally, been on a mission of sorts for diapers for Johnny, or so Castiel had thought, but it became obvious within minutes of their arrival that the hunter had plans beyond getting a few necessities for the baby. "You are a... well, we'll call you an uncle. Because God knows I don't know what you are to the kid at this point."

Castiel frowned at the man, his brows furrowed at that.

"Look, the kid will eventually notice that Uncle Cas doesn't change his clothes and is always dressed like he's ready to go to work. You need a little variety in your wardrobe."

"You are suggesting, then, that I mimic you and the Winchesters and invest in a great deal of T-shirts and flannel?"

"Was that sarcasm?" Bobby asked. The angel could not be sure if the man was irritated at him or proud. Perhaps both. Either way, the angel attempted to answer the question, but was immediately cut off. "Doesn't matter. Come on, we're getting you some other clothes."

The angel considered arguing, but he thought better of it. It would do him to good with Bobby, anyway. That was how he found himself inside a dressing room while the older hunter held Johnny outside and waited.

Though Bobby had been more willing to let him buy button-up shirts and ties than Castiel imagined Dean would have been had such an idea entered the man's head first, it was obvious that those now-familiar items would not make up the whole of the angel's new wardrobe. He found the jeans Bobby had located in an appropriate size to be confining. Yet, he could acknowledge they likely had more durability than Jimmy's suit. That didn't matter much when the angel was able to repair the damage.

Which was why he found himself in the dressing room pulling on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

"You doing okay in there?"

Castiel huffed in irritation. "I am capable of dressing myself. "While there might be certain facets of human clothing that were lost on him, Castiel was aware of the basics. And he had been subjected to "There's Something About Mary," accompanied by an explanation from Dean about the importance of adjusting one's self before zipping, so he was aware of the potential consequences of the fly.

He was in the process of pulling on a sweatshirt with a cola logo on the front when he heard someone outside talking with Bobby.

"Who's this little guy?" the man said after customary greetings.

"You remember Dean and his brother Sam?" The man must have nodded because there was a break in Bobby's comments. "This is Dean's boy, Johnny."

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd managed to fool some poor woman into sleeping with you."

"Very funny."

"I was actually hoping to talk to you about that car those boys drive." Castiel was in the process of putting on a pair of lightweight pants that were, apparently designed for yoga. At least, that was what the attached tag said. He found himself curious just what this man wanted to know about Dean's prized car. If he was interested in buying, the angel could have told him to try again because there was no chance that Dean would sell. "I saw it rolled in on a flatbed last year. Looked in pretty rough shape. I was darned surprised to see it driving around a couple of weeks back.

"Do you think you'd be willing to take on another project like that?"

"Well, I wasn't the one who did it," Bobby said. "That was all Dean." The man sounded proud, and probably for good reason. Castiel had remembered the state of the car, had been sickened at the thought that both Dean and Bobby had been in it at the time and could easily have been killed. He also remembered how hard Dean had worked on his Baby to get it back to working shape, all of it done while pointedly ignoring Castiel and his attempts to make amends. The one time that the angel had suggested using his angelic powers to repair the trusted metal member of the Winchester family, he had found a sanding block lobbed at his at his head.

When it had bounced off with very little reaction from the angel, Dean had laughed. It had been a start.

"Does he do this professionally?"

"Not as such," Bobby said while Castiel was trying on a different shirt, this one with long sleeves and made of a similar material to the T-shirt. It appeared that medium was the most appropriate fit. "But Dean's dad and I taught him everything he knows." Bobby's voice changed and it became obvious that he was no longer talking to the man beside him and had now turned his attention to Castiel. "You doing OK in there?"

"I believe I have determined my size," he said as he opened the door and glanced outside the dressing room. Johnny let out a giggle not too different from the one he had given Dean when he had seen him in the make-up.

"Ted," Bobby said, "this is my son, Cas."

Though he tried to remind himself that until a few years ago he had not possessed emotion, Castiel found it incredibly difficult to cover his surprise at the hunter's words. His son? Did that qualify as blasphemy? Even Castiel wasn't sure.

"Didn't know you had any kids, Bobby."

"Neither did I until a couple years ago."

This man, Ted, approached the dressing room door and extended a hand to Castiel. The angel shook it, trying to give a firm enough grip but without his angelic strength. This was something he and Dean had been working on.

"So are you trying to make up for the lost days of school shopping?" the man asked with a look at the cart. Castiel did not understand the reference, but it seemed Bobby did, as the hunter chuckled.

"Nah. Cas is going to be staying with me now. There were layoffs at his old job, and most of his wardrobe there consisted of suits. Not the most appropriate for hanging around a salvage yard." Bobby's attention was now turned to Castiel. "now we know your size, we can grab a few extra clothes." Castiel took those words from Bobby as a signal that he could re-enter the dressing room. He assumed, since the clothes he was now wearing were not yet paid for, he would need to return them to their hangers and present them at the cash register.

"So what's the project?" Bobby asked.

"A 1971 Chevelle," the man said. "Used to have one when I was 16." Castiel had removed the shirt and neatly hung it on the hanger. "Bought it in '77 and it was totaled in the winter of '83. I've been trying to get money together to buy a new one and get it fixed up right. The car I had as a kid, it had a lot of little custom details, things I wanted in a car when I fixed it up, and none of this modern stuff."

The angel was down to the bland boxers Jimmy had put on that morning years ago. The two men outside were still talking. He could hear Johnny making occasional noises as the men talked.

"My old car had an 8-track in it, and I don't want anything more advanced than a cassette in the new one. Problem was, every car I looked at was already done to someone else's standards, and I'd have been paying for work I was going to get undone.

Castiel was in the process of pulling on his pants as the two continued to stalk shop. His own mind was buzzing. Bobby was verbally adopting him, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"I found this old junker. Body's a little rough, but the bones are good. I want you to see if that boy of yours would be willing to try his skills at another Chevy."

"Sure he would," Bobby assured him. The angel wondered how Dean would react to having the man speak for him. Not well, Castiel imagined. But he would not grouse for long. Bobby likely had an explanation for his actions, just as he surely did for for making the angel his pretend son.

Dean would likely find that part amusing. Sam as well, maybe more so because the younger brother seemed to be the only one who remembered that Castiel was an angel with millions of years behind him.

"Just bring the car by today. Dean'll be back this afternoon."

Castiel stepped out of the dressing room and said a goodbye to the man.

"Your son?" he finally asked Bobby as the man was out of hearing range.

"You're going to be around a lot now. So it was either that or Dean's life partner. And there's only so much talking for Dean I'll do. Assigning him a husband would be a step too far."

Castiel frowned as he found himself being handed Johnny while Bobby loaded the wire framed cart with shirts and pants. "I especially liked the yoga pants." They seemed the most functional for activities around the house or any weather.

Though Castiel agreed completely with Bobby—Dean wouldn't like all of the women in the town he decided to call his home base believing he was in a relationship. Castiel would not have opposed the story as explanation for his presence, but he was in a unique situation. He had little desire to develop a relationship with anyone beyond the ones he had with the hunters and Johnny.

After he had loaded the cart with a number of items, Bobby reached into his pocket and retrieved a new-looking wallet. He held it out to the angel. "I asked Metatron to fix all of the records. You're thirty-one, the result of an ill-fated trip to Vegas that I actually took after Karen's death. Your 'mother' passed away four years ago, which was when I found out about you."

The angel opened the wallet to find a South Dakota ID—not a driver's license, he noted. "Jimmy was in his mid-thirties when he became my vessel," he said in a low voice. "Would it not make more sense to have assigned me an age closer to that?"

"You aren't going to age, so it's better if we give people a little more time before it becomes noticeable. Besides, my trip to Vegas is the first real time away that I took after Karen's death that would make any real sense. Rest of my trips were close, or other hunters were involved."

The angel glanced over the ID. "You gave me your surname?"

"You can pick something else if you'd rather not be a Singer. I can ask Meta—"

"No," Castiel hastily. "I am flattered, I think is the word. Pleased, most definitely." He was feeling a lightness in his chest at Bobby's presentment. A smile spread on his face; these were becoming much more common and natural now.

Johnny was busy snuggling against the angel's shoulder, Dean and Sam would be home that evening, and most importantly, any doubt that Bobby had forgiven him was put out of the angel's mind.


	32. Growing Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam arrive home. And Cas is in yoga pants.

_"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."_

_Marcel Proust_

Hours ago, Sam and Dean had said their goodbyes to Andrea and Lucas with promises they would keep in touch. Now, the brothers were on the road and had been for the last four hours without stop, and Dean didn't look anywhere close to taking a break. Honestly, Sam was beginning to wonder if fatherhood had given Dean some kind of super bladder, not to mention stomach-oh, he knew his brother's gut was capable of withstanding food that no one else should reasonably be able to tolerate, but Sam had never seen him go without for this long.

"Dean, we're seriously going to need to stop soon," he said, keeping his voice above the noise of his brother's classic rock.

"Why?" And damn it if he didn't look and sound genuinely oblivious.

"Because I'd like a little food and maybe to get to take a leak." He also needed to make a phone call to Emma while he wasn't sitting in the car where his brother could listen in and probably mock everything he said.

"We've got a couple of power bars and there's an empty beer bottle in the back."

Sam turned and scowled at his brother. " _I am not pissing in a beer bottle_ ," he growled. "I'm not ten anymore with dad barreling down the highway toward the next hunt. We are going to stop at the next fast food place, use the facilities and get some food."

Dean snickered. "Seriously, dude, did you just say 'use the facilities?'"

"Just drive."

It wasn't long before they came up on a burger joint, and Sam honestly wondered if he wasn't going to have to physically take hold of the steering wheel to get them into the parking lot. They finally parked and both did their business, and Dean added a "Might as well since princess had to stop," when he saw Sam smirking at him going into the bathroom, too.

When they left, Sam told his brother to take the order. Dean looked at him curiously, and Sam explained that he needed to make a phone call. True to form, the older brother made a crack that putting up with Sam in a relationship was even more sickening than usual. The fact that he only made that single dig and willingly walked away to get to them some real food was Dean's own way of acknowledging that he understood Sam's need for space without getting into the realm of touchy-feely where he was so obviously uncomfortable.

Sam had his phone out before he was through the door and was waiting for her to answer by the time he was at the Impala. When she didn't immediately, he began to panic, but as he was about to leave her a voicemail, she was already calling him back. "Sorry about that," she said as soon as he answered. "I was soldering and had to finish before I could answer."

Sam still found it kind of amazing that he could have a girlfriend whose job something that should have been so seemingly girly, but that she was still capable of doing stuff like soldering or melting down the metal to make each of her designs (or silver buckshot). "No problem."

"Is everyone OK?" she asked, and Sam could hear the tinkling of metal on metal. She was obviously still working as they talked. "Is the hunt taking a new turn?"

"No, it's over and we're on the way home. But do you remember me telling you that we were supposed to find out about these other hunters that Andrea has been working with?"

"Yeah..." The clanging stopped, and though Sam was fairly sure that she was still working, it was a quieter stop in the process.

"It turns out that a bunch of the people we helped over the years have become hunters. Dean and I are still trying to wrap our minds around it. We had, more or less, hoped that after their brief encounter with the supernatural, they'd have wanted to call it quits."

"Some of us are just made of tougher stuff," Emma said, and he could picture her smiling at that, probably while bending a piece of wire to her will with the help of two needle-nosed pliers.

"Yeah, well, just because we're dating, don't go planning some romantic getaway wendigo hunting. I'd rather not worry about the danger we go walking into together and just keep it to the danger that comes to us."

Her laughter made him smile involuntarily. "But Sam, the article in Cosmo said that if you really want to land your man, the  _very_  best way is with a wendigo hunt. And the travel agent has set us up with a nice little spot in the middle of nowhere in Washington state."

Sam kicked at the edge of a small pothole in the parking lot, loosening a small piece of asphalt from its edge. "You can't believe everything you read in Cosmo. I've seen some of its tips to liven things up in the bedroom."

"In other words, ask before you put your finger in unfamiliar places," she teased.

"Most definitely."

He heard her hiss some modified swear under her breath—unless the situation called for it, she tended to use words like darn or shoot before she resorted to the more bleep-worthy phrases. From what Sam could tell, the chain she was making wasn't laying correctly and would have to be undone.

"The reason I'm calling you," he said, "is because one of the people I got to talk to was Sarah Blake. She and I … we dated once and she got involved in a hunt."

"Okay," she said, sounding as though she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. "This Sarah, is she … interested?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Sam glanced up to see Dean flirting with the waitress who was in the process of showing him the variety of pies available. "She mentioned she'd broken up with a hunter she'd been dating. It was subtler than that but... yeah."

"Oh, she's interested." He could hear her sigh, and the noises from her tools stopped. "Honestly, her interest isn't what I'm worried about. It's yours. Are you interested? And please don't tell me what you think I want to hear. If she's the one who got away, I don't know that I can compete with that."

Emma had already said something similar about Jess, especially when she pointed out there were quite a few physical similarities between them—blond, dark eyes, similar height. Sam had been quick to point out then that while he felt they had a similar kind nature, he honestly wasn't sure Jess would have coped so well with a hunt. He also had none of the need to hide things from her that he had from Jess, and that wasn't entirely due to the fact that he'd met Emma in the midst of a hunt. Had Jess made it through one hunt, he knew she would worry every time Sam went out.

"She  _is_  the one that got away," Sam admitted. "But that was six years ago, and I  _know_  that I will kick myself if I let you go without really trying at this. You'd just be the new one that got away. But I wanted to tell you. Keeping secrets is way too easy with what we do."

"So we're not breaking up? Good." Emma was going for nonchalant, but Sam was relatively sure he picked upon a little relief. He heard the sounds of clinking metal again as her tools kicked back to life. "I kind of like you."

Sam snorted at that. "I'm glad to hear it. I pour my heart out, and all I get is 'I kind of like you.'"

"Yeah, well," and here, for the first time did she sound a little awkward, "we aren't ready yet for the big declarations. At least, I'm not." He heard a little clinking, as though she was fumbling with what she was doing. "Speaking of things we're not ready for... You know how I said I'd get Mom to cover the shop so I can come visit with you four a week or so over the 4th?"

"Yes...?"

"Mom's not willing to do it unless she meets you first. So, when you were planning to visit next week, I might have to introduce you two."

"Okay," Sam said, watching Dean walk out with a handful of bags in one hand and waving around a napkin with the other. Apparently, the waitress gave him her phone number. Foolish woman. "I'd really like to meet her," he said, a little surprised that he actually meant it. Emma should just be grateful that he was the Winchester she was dating. If she had posed that question to Dean, it probably would have sent him running.

Sam wouldn't pretend he was completely at ease with the idea of meeting his girlfriend's mom so early in a relationship, but he understood this wasn't a normal situation. If he were in Emma's mother's shoes, he probably would do the same. Sam just would need to be sure to be on his best behavior.

"Johnny is a serious chick magnet. I nearly had the waitress's number, but the minute she saw his photo, she was practically falling over herself trying to write it down for me. I am so taking him to the park when we get back home. Get some divorcee action."

Oh yeah, stay on his best behavior and make sure Dean didn't come along.

#

Sam had, not so subtly, been trying to get Dean to talk about what he'd seen when he'd looked at Cas. He'd give him a short answer, some little thing to try to get him off the subject. It wasn't so much that he hadn't liked what he'd seen or that he was trying to keep it to himself. The fact was that Dean didn't think that he would be able to properly describe his friend with words, and the ones he could find sounded way too damned girly.

And really, after the last few days, Dean felt an uncontrollable need to prove his masculinity. He'd already gotten a woman's phone number, and that was a start. Next was to have a beer, scratch himself, watch some porn with as few men in the video and room as possible. He'd talk cars with Bobby, maybe.

Problem was, he was going to have to deal with a mess of confusion when he saw Cas. There were no cases now, no hunts. Just Johnny, Bobby and Sam, and the two men weren't going to be much of a distraction. And until Dean's mind could settle down, he was going to need distracted. Too much had happened over too short a time, and he needed the chance to process it.

It was nearly midnight when Dean finally got home. He wanted to hit Sam for making them take that stop. It hadn't taken long, but just maybe Johnny would have still been awake when they got back to Bobby's. Dean didn't bother to hold out hope that his son would still be awake at this hour. He was parking the Impala next to a beat up old Chevelle, wondering what bet Bobby had lost to have to take on that piece of crap—not the model in general, just this particular one.

He popped his baby's trunk and pulled out the two duffels of their clothes. Sam took his from him before heading inside. Dean was right behind him, and he nearly ran into his brother when the man stopped dead in front of him. It took him a moment to realize just what Sam was looking at, but he understood his brother's shock as soon as he saw it. Standing in Bobby's parlor was a man clad in loose black pants and a gray T-shirt, and he was slowly patting Johnny's back.

In the back of his mind, Dean knew who the man was standing in Bobby's house, barefoot and caring for Johnny with increasing ease. There was no one else it really  _could_  be, but his brain was struggling with the disconnect of seeing him like this. When Cas finally turned around, Dean could hardly help his eyes widening in surprise.

"Cas," Dean said as the angel turned to face him. He noted the small smile on his face as he did. The angel looked surprisingly content and genuinely happy to see them home.

"He fell asleep just a few minutes ago. I am sorry you missed him."

Dean walked into the room so he could at least look at the boy now snuggling close to Cas's neck. "What are you wearing?"

"I believe these are called yoga pants," the angel said, looking down at his attire.

"But why?" Dean asked.

"You have pointed out that parental figures do not typically wear suits, and Bobby insisted this would go best with my new identity."

"As what? The artist formerly known as Cas?" The angel frowned, visibly confused and a bit irritated at another reference he clearly didn't understand. "Never mind."

Cas walked over to the sofa and pulled something out of the trenchcoat draped over it. It was a wallet, the one Dean had given him to carry around a photo of Johnny, but what Cas was showing them this time was a driver's license—no, an ID. Thankfully, someone had enough common sense not to let Cas behind the wheel of a vehicle.

"Castiel... Singer? Bobby  _adopted_  you?"

"He said it would have been suspicious if you and Sam had a brother no one had met, Adam aside. You have been coming here since you were boys, and people in town have seen you. But it wasn't unreasonable that he might have had a tryst after Karen's passing."

Dean could hear Sam laughing, that sort of "I'm-just-happy" laugh that none of them did often enough.

Soon enough, Bobby was coming down the steps. "There you two are," he aid. "Was starting to worry."

"How's it feel to be the dad of a bouncing baby angel?" Sam asked.

"Surprisingly, not all that different from dealing with you two."

Dean pointed at the door with this thumb. "Couldn't help but notice the new pile of junk outside. Whose is that?"

"Technically, Ted Allen's, but for the time being, it's your problem."

"Mine?" Dean asked. He felt the unreasonable need to go out and apologize to his baby and assure her she was the only one for him.

"Ted's apparently seen the Impala when it came through on my flatbed. He said if you could piece her back after that, maybe you could do some good for his Chevelle. He got a photo of what he wants it to look like and a credit card ready to order any parts. He's wiling to pay you good money for your time."

Dean opened his mouth to argue about how this was a bad idea, but Bobby cut him off. "You can't go around hustling pool in a place where you're setting down roots, and I get the impression, unless I'm wrong, that's what you're doing with Johnny. Not to mention you're probably one of the best mechanics I know, and you're pretty damned impressive with auto body work. If you don't like doing it, you don't have to again, but I wasn't going to pass up a job that walks up to me in the middle of Wal-Mart."

He was torn between the part of himself that was repelled at the idea of anything resembling a normal life and the part that still yearned for it. A regular job, this time one that interested him a hell of a lot more than construction ever did. That rough thing outside was going to take a hell of a lot of work, and that meant Dean would get to know that Chevelle inside and out, work on it from the frame up. And that provided an interesting challenge for him.

"He'll do it," Sam said. "He's already putting it together in his head."

"Well, someone's got to be the breadwinner for this family."

Bobby let out a huff of laughter. "Say that when you don't live in someone else's house."

"You wouldn't have us anywhere else anyway."

Bobby gave no response, which was basically a confirmation by the crotchety man's terms.

#

Though Sam had been very obviously tired, Dean had stayed awake for some time. Castiel assumed that was so that he could spend some time with Johnny, should he wake. However, the boy proved true to form. He slept soundly and did not wake even when Dean took him from the angel and they both settled on the sofa to watch a show called the Dukes of Hazard. It was obvious Dean had a fondness for this show that stemmed back to childhood, so the angel thought better of pointing out how impossible the feats were for a car that size.

Dean had since fallen asleep and was settled against the angel's shoulder. Bobby's sofa was not large, and he thought more than once about moving the hunter and his son to the larger bed upstairs, or at the very least extracting himself to give Dean more room.

The problem was that Castiel seemed to be unable—or at least unwilling—to do it. It felt very similar to how he had been unable to move from Johnny's side after the skinwalker attack. It was also very like the odd sensation he had been experiencing in the hunter's presence for days now. He had felt it most acutely last night in Dean's dream. Though caring for Johnny had provided ample distraction, when he had been given an opportunity, the angel's mind had gone back to that dream and how it had made him feel.

Slowly, the angel lowered both father and son to a position closer to lying down. It placed Dean's head on his lap and Johnny's at Dean's chest. The boy quickly adjusted to the new position and smiled softly in his sleep. Dean looked no less content, which made something inside Castiel bubble with self pride.

Castiel watched as Dean's left arm tightened around Johnny. His right hand remained free. The angel knew the hunter would not wake any time soon, and he was desperately trying to put a word to what he felt now and the sensation that washed over him when the man had taken his hand in his dream. Tentatively, Castiel covered Dean's thicker hand with his own, narrower one. It felt nice, but not the same. Just touching Dean was not enough. So what was it that had made the difference?

Was it possibly because in the dream, Dean had initiated the contact? Was it because, at the time, Dean had been aware of what was happening?

With a sigh, Castiel moved his hand from Dean's and placed it atop Johnny's head instead. The fuzzy hair was already becoming fine and silky, and the time spent outside was helping speed along the dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boy's tiny little nose wrinkled for a moment, only to settle back to his look of contentment.

A thought struck Castiel, and his curiosity, combined with the friend's restful state, made him bold enough to tentatively move his hand to the hunter's head and run his fingers over his hair. It was coarser than Johnny's but a little finer than Jimmy's—well, Castiel's now. Dean's hair felt as though it had something in it. Castiel knew very little about hair products, so he could not be sure if the substance was a remnant of Andrea's work or how Dean typically styled his hair.

Stealing a glance at the darkened room—he had turned off the TV already—he listened for any sign of movement upstairs. More than once now, Bobby and Sam had expressed amusement at Dean and Castiel's sleeping situation. They even had the photos to support that. He could only imagine what they might do if they saw the angel touching his sleeping friend's hair.

But there was no one around. No Sam, no Bobby, so Castiel dared to run his fingers through the shortly cut strands, just to know what it felt like. Castiel could feel his heartrate increase, and he did not understand why. Was it fear of being caught? Was it something else?

And, worst of all was that it was happening whenever he touched his friend, a friend who was terrible at expressing his own feelings, a friend who liked to pretend he had an imaginary bubble of personal space. Castiel knew he could not speak of this with Dean. He didn't even dare talk about it to Bobby or Sam for fear Dean would find out and be angry with him. He couldn't take that again.

When Dean's arm tightened around Johnny and he turned to his side, feet still hanging off of the arm of the sofa, it placed the hunter's cheek against the angel's thigh. The man's warm breath easily warmed Castiel's leg through the new thin pants. It made his hand still in Dean's hair. When the man's head moved toward his fingers like a cat wanting to be pet and that warm breath continued to tickle over the angel's leg, it was all too much. Dean was bound to notice, and even if he didn't, Castiel was relatively sure that wherever this was going inside his own head, it wasn't good.

Like a coward, he disappeared, not from the room, but from the sofa, causing Dean's head to drop onto the cushion and wake him with a start. Johnny woke, too, and whatever confusion Dean might have otherwise expressed was put to the back of his mind as he slowly lulled the boy back to sleep on their trip upstairs.

Even when he saw Dean obviously looking for him in the darkness, Castiel could not find the courage to appear.


	33. Distractions and Unbidden Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is realizing his feelings and Dean meets a girl.

_A man in hue all hues in his controlling,/ Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. / And for a woman wert thou first created; / Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, / And by addition me of thee defeated."_

_William Shakespeare, Sonnet 20_

If Dean had ever needed a reminder that his love life had been drier than the Sahara and that he seriously needed to man-up, it had come in the form of Cas's rude wake-up call. Though it had been nice enough to have someone with him as he slept off and on for these last few weeks, he couldn't force some undefinable role on his best friend.

God only knew, well, God and Cas, what Dean had done in his sleep, but it was pretty obvious he'd settled his head into his friend's lap. It was embarrassing just to think about.

Thankfully, between caring for Johnny and starting work on that Chevelle, Dean didn't have to think about it. It didn't mean that he  _didn't_  think about it, unfortunately. He did way too much for his liking. His relationship with the angel had always been on the weird side. He knew that. He didn't need it to be any more strange than it already was. He couldn't cope with it being as strained as it had been for a while there.

So, when Ramona and Fallyn showed up, Dean really wasn't complaining.

They met at the park. Dean took a break from his work on the Chevelle and Castiel was busy meeting with the feathered trio who were becoming much more of a common sight at the salvage yard.

Dean placed Johnny in one of those baby swings that took an engineering degree to open and close. He was just a few spots down from a little girl who was awkwardly pumping her legs and trying to go higher. A woman who might have been her mother or her sitter—the girl was part African American and the dark haired woman with the sleeve tattoo near her was definitely white or possibly hispanic—was leaning against the far pole of the swingset, looking at something on an iPad.

The woman glanced up at Dean, who couldn't help but notice that behind the iPad was a faded Van Halen T-shirt. She smiled at him, then turned her attention to the girl on the swing. "Fallyn, are you sure you don't want me to push you?"

The girl raised a hand and pointed the palm at the woman in a stopping motion. "Mommy, I do it."

Dean chuckled and pushed Johnny slowly.

"You laugh now, but just wait until your little guy talks."

She pushed a piece of her curly black hair into the ponytail at the nape of her neck. She had one of those odd haircuts where the sides were super close but the rest of the hair was very long. If the rest of her hair was styled right, he imagined it would probably have made an awesome mohawk. She had a few piercings in each ear, and her left arm looked to be on its way to matching the full sleeve on the right, as she had a few tattoos down to her elbows.

She glanced back and the screen and began tapping at it furiously only to let out a "Son of a bitch!" after a few moments.

"Ooooo..." Fallyn said as she twisted around in her swing. "Swear jar, Mommy."

The woman sighed. "I'll put a dollar in when we get home." She packed the iPad into her backpack, which like Dean's, seemed to double as a diaper bag.

"I'd go broke," Dean said.

"I might." She gave a quick look to her daughter and then said in a lower voice, "Once she learns to count past ten."

Dean chuckled and glanced down at Johnny, who was grinning up at him. The boy lifted his arms toward Dean, not so much to get out as just to touch and play.

"Mommy," Fallyn said, "he no has his hand."

"No, he doesn't," the woman said. "Sometimes people are born without a hand or a leg. Sometimes people need a wheelchair, like you've seen at Mommy's work."

The girl gave a look of understanding, then looked up at Dean. Her focus on Johnny and his father seemed to be distracting her from swinging, as she was now at a dead stop. "You he daddy?" Dean nodded. "He play wit me?"

"Maybe sometime. He's not one yet, so he doesn't do much," Dean said of his son.

"Mommy, playdate." And with that command, the little girl began swinging again.

"Yeah, yeah," she said with a laugh. "Kidding aside, Fallyn's pretty good around babies and smaller kids if you'd like for Johnny to have someone to play with. We're usually here at the park this time of day. I'm Ramona by the way."

"Dean." He glanced at the bag where she'd left her iPad. "What had you so pi—angry a minute ago?"

She smirked. "I got hugged to death."

"Hugged to death?"

"Got this app for free a couple days ago. You shoot teddy bears, their heads blow off and shoot out rainbows. You die when they hug you."

Dean was now seriously considering getting a smart phone just for that. It sounded  _awesome._

"I think I've seen you around. You drive that massive black Chevy, right?" Dean nodded, grinning a little that she'd noticed his baby and even got the manufacturer right.

"I'm staying with Bobby Singer. He has the salvage yard outside of town."

"I know the place. I know Bobby, too. Little bit accident prone, isn't he?"

Dean laughed because what else could he do? Based upon what Ramona had said so far, she seemed to work at a hospital. Dean wasn't used to living somewhere permanently, so he had never dealt with going back to the same hospital for whatever injuries he received. The hospital staff never got to know him all that well. "Probably not the best profession for a guy like him, working at the salvage yard."

Ramona's attention was once again on her daughter's attempts at swinging. It gave Dean a chance to really look at her. She was tall and thin, not the hourglass figure that he usually went for. Her tattoos were intricate and he couldn't help noticing the medical symbol—the one with the staff and the snakes whose name he didn't know but Sam probably did—incorporated into the design. She didn't wear a wedding ring, and Dean didn't notice any sign she recently had worn one, like a tan line. She had pale green eyes, which he noticed only as she caught him giving her one last once-over.

She smirked, but quickly eyed Dean's own hands. He began to wonder if this was some sort of mating ritual for single parents, checking for wedding rings. "So you work at the hospital"

"I'm a physicians assistant." Discreetly, she gave her daughter's swing a nudge.

"See, Mommy, I do it."

"Very good, kiddo. See if you can keep it going."

Since his own child was much younger, Dean continued pushing Johnny, but he slowly moved to the front of his son's swing to play with him as he moved closer and then away once again. Ramona was interesting, but Dean wasn't going to neglect his son.

Naturally, the boy beamed at the attention.

"You come here this time of day every day?" he asked, turning his eyes from Johnny for just a few moments and not even bothering to hide that he was interested.

"Usually," she said with a small smirk.

They stayed at the park, alternating between talking and entertaining their children. Johnny didn't seem to know what to do with Fallyn, but the girl was certainly a force to be reckoned with. She encouraged him to play in the sandbox without his daddy at his side-not that he actually did it, but Dean didn't mind sitting beside his son at the edge of the brown box, since it gave him the time with his son he wanted and a better vantage point for any possible cat crap in the box. The girl tried to show Johnny how to build a sandcastle with the slightly damp sand, but she wasn't disappointed when the too-young boy wasn't able to imitate her. When they parted an hour later, Johnny even got his first kiss on the cheek.

Ramona was no less confident in herself than her daughter. She had apparently been the one to leave her doctor ex-husband when she found out he'd been cheating on her, and she informed him that if he made things weird at the hospital where they both worked, she'd injure him in places he didn't want hurt. She was a physician's assistant in the emergency room and her ex specialized in thoracic surgery, so they didn't have to interact often.

When she warned Dean never to bother with office romances, Dean could only laugh. His own options consisted of a brother, a near-father and Cas. And he wasn't quite sure how he would classify the angel. Considering the weirdness between them over the last week and how quickly the angel had flown off after each strange incident, Cas wasn't all that viable even in a joke about workplace romances.

Dean found that he had a fair amount in common with Ramona, even if what they liked wasn't exactly identical. She was all of six months younger than him, so they had grown up with the same cartoons, same bands, same milestones. She watched Dr. Sexy and Clint Eastwood movies. She liked AC/DC, Van Halen, the Doors and a few newer bands Dean knew enough about to know they didn't completely suck. Ramona, after some prodding, admitted to the New Kids on the Block being a guilty pleasure for her, and while Dean had no love for them (he hadn't been a girl in the late 80s, so it wasn't likely he would), he could appreciate guilty pleasures. He had a few of those.

She was also able to offer a little bit in the way of parenting tips, like no matter how much you banned the annoying kids shows and tried to go with the classics, your child would find those shows, fall in love with them and proudly declare that while they liked Scooby or Kermit or Big Bird, the really annoying character you hate most is their  _favorite_. It was inevitable, she said. She could also recommend a few daycares and kiddie events, and told him what ones to avoid. She was one of those people who called herself spiritual and not religious, which was why she avoided some of the kiddie events where puppets attempted to bash children over the head with this or that church's own brand of faith.

And when Dean offered her his own advice based upon his experience with Sam and then had to explain to her why he knew what he did, she looked at him like he might have been a box full of kittens. Or lizards; she seemed like that might impress her just as much. It was already obvious her idea of cute was a little off.

He left the park with Ramona's number, a baby ready to nap, and a feeling that maybe all was going to be right in the world after all.

#

For Castiel, however, that couldn't have been further from the truth.

The trouble had begun with touching Dean's hair that night. The angel had thoroughly enjoyed that stolen moment until it became suddenly awkward and more than his brain could process. Worst of all was that Dean had awoken at being unceremoniously dropped to the cushions when Castiel had vanished. Now, he was acting strangely toward the angel, and almost all conversations between them revolved solely around Johnny.

This was all salvageable, Castiel knew. What he wasn't so sure about was everything else. It had been a slow build to this strange feeling he now got whenever Dean near him. He reveled in and loathed the sensation. It was most noticeable that night, but truthfully, there had been something lurking in the back of Castiel's mind for some time. The angel just could no longer deny it when Dean had unconsciously yearned for the angel's touch. He had felt his body and mind alike react and the week since had not improved matters.

Castiel was beginning to hate the car currently taking residence in Bobby's garage. On Dean's first night after working on it, he had been covered head to foot in grease and oil. Sam and Bobby, who had helped Dean lower the weighty engine into the car with the assistance of Bobby's tow truck, had fared much better, with oil and grease only on their hands. Bobby would not allow Dean to walk through the house as dirty as he was, so Castiel had offered to take Dean directly to the bathroom for a shower.

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea to divest Dean of his clothing, as they were filthy as well. Dean, however, had not thought so. There had been a great deal of ranting and blushing and quick hiding behind the opaque shower curtain. Castiel had hurriedly apologized; then he hastily fled from the room.

Alone for a moment perched atop the roof, for lack of a better locale nearby to calm his own speeding heartrate, Castiel could not seem to stop the images of Dean's body from dancing through his thoughts.

It had not been the first time he had seen Dean in some state of undress. In fact, Castiel had rebuilt each muscle, sinew, organ and even freckle on Dean's body. He had seen and touched it all before. So why was it suddenly having such an effect on him now?

Castiel had stayed on the roof for far longer than he'd intended. It had been Sam who had finally stuck his head out of the attic window.

"I thought you might be here. Dean thought you went back to heaven, but I knew you wouldn't go that far from Johnny."

"Is Dean still displeased with me?" Because as confused as the angel had been and still was, when it came down to it, what mattered was that Dean not be angry.

"He's a little miffed," Sam had said, then frowned at his use of the word, as though he hadn't been sure where he had even learned it. "But now, it's mostly because he's worried about where you are." Sam had rested his elbows and forearms on the windowsill to lean out and talk to Castiel. "Are  _you_  okay?"

Castiel had looked at his hands and considered discussing this with Sam. Perhaps if he were not Dean's brother, the angel would have done so. Instead, all he had said was, "I have begun to feel awkward—more awkward around your brother of late."

Though Castiel had thought the statement was fairly innocuous, something about it had made the younger brother smile. It was the smile that usually made Dean very angry, and now that it was turned on Castiel, he could understand Dean's frustration. Without saying a single word, Sam was making it clear he knew something that the angel did not. "The dynamic between you has changed. You don't have to feel awkward about that."

Castiel had offered a smile and his thanks. It was kind of Sam to try to reach out to him, smile excluded. Unfortunately, the angel had not been ready to talk, or able.

Then Sam had left to spend a week in Minnesota, and Castiel had become increasingly grateful for Dean's shift to body work on the car while he waited for various engine and mechanical parts to come in. The new work involved sanding, which created a metallic dust that seemed to disappear fairly quickly with a good shake of the body or clothes and required the use of a mask and goggles. There was nothing necessarily unpleasant about this part of the work, save for the tangy smell of metal that Dean's sanding left behind in its wake. Those nights, the man had been allowed inside the house after work, as long as he shook himself off in advance.

But the rear of the car was sanded down as far as it would go, and an odd red putty had been applied over the remaining rust divots and uneven patches. While holding Johnny in his arms, Castiel had watched Dean work. The man had talked to his son the whole time. Occasionally, he would say something to Castiel, but Dean was far more focused on keeping his son included than he was the angel.

Castiel had enjoyed the chance to just sit or stand with Johnny in that garage with Dean. Their interaction had not been uncomfortable for either of them, it seemed, because it had been tempered by the baby's presence. Johnny could not be entertained for long periods of time, so the angel and occasionally Dean would take the boy to play or get a snack. Even then, they had been at ease with one another.

It had been pleasant and had given the angel the chance to interact, in a roundabout way, with his friend without the confusion.

The red putty had provided a few days to bond, to talk about anything or nothing. Now, it was the bane of Castiel's existence. This filler substance apparently needed to be sanded smooth once it dried, and the resulting dust was not so easy to dislodge from a human body as the metal. Though Dean was well-protected, it still clung to every bare patch of skin, clothing or hair and left a residue to anything Dean's dust-covered body touched.

Given the awkward incident before with the shower, Dean wasn't about to allow Castiel to transport him to the bathroom again. So, the hunter had taken to getting the worst of the dried putty dust off with a quick spray of the hose outside. That was the source of the angel's problem. On its own, the dust wasn't offensive, but when Castiel had been placing Johnny in his crib for a nap, he had discovered something unexpected: Dean had been outside the house, stripped down to just the underwear he had put on that morning—dark boxer briefs, Castiel thought they were called—and had begun hosing off the worst of the red material that covered his forearms, hair and, despite the clothing that had covered him, other areas of his body.

The angel had been practically unable to pull himself from the window as he had watched Dean hastily drench himself with the cold water. There had been nothing languid or slow about this, as he knew the brothers were wont to do when given the opportunity at a hot shower, and Castiel watched with increased interest. The angel had always had the ability to observe, but he had always respected the hunters' privacy. Especially Dean's. He could also admit he had never really had such a strong desire to watch until that moment, either.

This time, unlike when he had felt Dean's warm breath against his thigh, he had recognized the feeling that had pooled in the bottom of his stomach and elsewhere. What Castiel now did not understand was why.

"Because you're attracted to him sexually, Cassie," Balthazar explained as he and Castiel sampled various baked goods from a shop in Paris. It had been the blond angel's suggestion that they go there. "You're alone in that body finally. It was inevitable it would happen once you really embraced the vessel as your own." He gave the grin he usually did before making a perverse joke, which made Castiel cut him short with a sharp glare.

Balthazar sighed, likely lamenting Castiel's more serious nature. "At least you know the porn wasn't an isolated incident. Everything's functioning in your vessel, and that's always good news."

"How did you get to be such an authority on the subject?"

"I've been alone in here for a few decades now," Balthazar said as he took a bite of his mille-feuille. "Trust me when I say that sexual drives are bound to turn up."

"So you are my role model, then?" Castiel said, mildly horrified at the thought. It must have shown on his face because Balthazar looked vaguely insulted. He tried to focus on his eclair. After all, he was the one who had approached Balthazar, because his youngest brother was the only angel who could possibly understand what it was like to suddenly feel these human urges. Metatron might recognize them, but he had at least had the benefit of humanity once.

"I think I can say that we will each be different." He gave a little smile and continued eating. "Though I think it would be amusing to watch you trying to have an orgy, I don't think you're the type."

The blond angel sighed. He seemed to do that often when explaining things to Castiel. "Cassie, I know that you're not the type." He gave him an appraising look. "I'm not sure if you even  _are_  a type." He shrugged. "You said Dean had the kid for the afternoon, so explore a little. There are plenty of beaches here in France. And may I suggest a trip to Rio? It's lovely this time of year."

Castiel was unimpressed with his brother's suggestion.

"This is a new sensation for you, pizza man aside, so explore a little. Find out what gets your blood pumping. See if Dean is different, maybe he's your type or maybe just your body and mind are coping with the dry spell to end all dry spells."

"What good will that information provide?" Castiel asked, not liking where these suggestions could lead.

"Castiel, it's natural to have urges, especially once you're in a human body." He speared another piece of his pastry and raised it up as an example. "I have absolutely no need for this, but I like sweets. Hell, we all do if we're given the chance to indulge." He gestured to Castiel's eclair. "They give us an energy boost and taste good. But we don't  _need_  them."

As though he was trying to prove a point that escaped even him, Castiel set his pastry on the plate and pushed the dish away. "I do not understand what I am supposed to do with that information," Castiel said. Truthfully, he feared it. Neither answer was appealing to him. Dean was the one human who came even slightly close to understanding him, who had already let him into his life, who let him help to raise his son. He did not want to find that this attraction was anything but unique to Dean. Even his one prior experience with sexual attraction had happened in Dean's presence, so it was quite possible.

Then there was the other possible answer, that Dean was unique and Castiel would feel this unfulfilled want for the remainder of his friend's life.

The angel could not act, would not. His friend had wanted a normal life, and he was well on his way toward that with his son. Castiel did not want to complicate matters. From his own observations of Dean's behavior, the angel was also relatively certain that he was in a body of the wrong gender to initiate anything, if he was so inclined.

"Cas," Balthazar said after finishing the last of his pastry. "I don't know where you're going, but it's definitely not your happy place. What's the problem?"

"If Dean is different, what do I do?"

"What if you're lusting after your best friend? And if he doesn't want you?" he asked, and Castiel nodded. "You could always fill your hours with lots of pointless sex. It's at least fun." Castiel considered asking what he meant by that, but Balthazar was quickly up on his feet and saying goodbye.

#

Bobby knew that look, could have called it as soon as Dean came into the house. He was too stupidly happy for it to be anything but a woman. And Bobby didn't think it would do much to help the pensive angel who had returned from talking with Balthazar a few moments before looking like someone had just run over his puppy. Castiel had assured Bobby that his problems were personal, not apocalyptic, and the hunter had agreed to give him his space for now.

Johnny was sound asleep on Dean's shoulder when they came in, and though the younger hunter was a ball of over-pleased energy, he kept it to himself as he headed for the hallway and up the stairs.

Bobby couldn't help but notice that Cas's eyes followed Dean as he passed, and the damned angel looked practically wistful. Bobby didn't know what was up with them both, but he sure as hell wasn't going to have a living soap opera in his house. He was giving them a couple of weeks to work it out on their own before he forced them to.

When Dean came back downstairs, he wore that shit-eating grin that made Bobby instinctively roll his eyes. He pulled out his cell phone and waved it around a bit. "I've got a playdate."

"For you or the boy?" Bobby asked.

"Both, I think." Dean started for the kitchen. "We still have some of that pie?"

"You ate the last of it yesterday," Bobby said. One day, that boy's metabolism would slow down and he was going to be the size of a house.

Bobby noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye. "Where are you going?" he asked the angel, who was busy putting his suit coat back on.

"Rio de Janiero."

Dean looked confused for a moment, but recovered quickly. "Hey, Cas, while you're there, do me a solid and bring me back some Brazilian pie."


	34. When You Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts having unusual dreams about his best friend, even though he is aiming for something with Ramona that could just be something awesome.

_"When you dream,/ what do you dream about?/ Do you dream about music/ or mathematics/ or planets too far for the eye?/ Do you dream about Jesus/ or quantum mechanics/ or angels who sing lullabies?"_

_Barenaked Ladies, "When You Dream"_

_"Hold it steady," Dean told Johnny as he adjusted the flashlight in his son's right hand. "Keep it focused on the spark plugs right there." He watched as the boy bit his bottom lip and focused as hard as he could to keep the beam focused solely on the plugs Dean would be cleaning first. The light shook, and Dean bit down the urge to correct Johnny for it. His own dad had been quick to snap when the light wavered or drifted away from where he needed it. Dean would be damned if he would, especially as he watched Johnny try to use his left arm to brace the light where other children might have been able to just grab hold of the light with both hands._

_"Am I doing OK, Dad?" Johnny asked._

_"You're a natural," Dean said, because he didn't have it in his heart to tell the kid he was twitchier than Sam at a circus. The kid was trying, and that was what mattered. He was also pretty excited to get to help with the Impala, so Dean was doing his best not to turn him off of mechanic work the way he had done to his brother. Maybe, if he could stop himself from his usual white knuckling of work on his baby, he might even let his son do a bit of the tune up with Dean to guide him. First, though, was to show Johnny what he was doing before he let the boy imitate him._

_Dean hadn't gotten even as far as removing the second plug before he heard a familiar voice behind him._

_"I thought you two might be thirsty." And there was Cas with two Cokes-the old-school kind that came in the curved glass bottle with the metal cap. The angel had taken the liberty of removing the lid from Johnny's soda, but left it for Dean. And with Cas's well intentioned gesture, Dean lost his light to work by as the flashlight was set down atop the engine so Johnny could have his hand free to take the drink. Dean wanted to be mad, really, but he could no more reprimand Cas for doing something nice than he could Johnny for failing to hold the flashlight steady._

_Dean took the bottle from the angel, letting his hand linger a bit as it brushed the narrower, cleaner fingers. "Wearing the black yoga pants today, I see."_

_"I would rather not need to use my Grace in order to get the grease out like I was forced to with the gray ones." He sighed and gave Dean a beleaguered look. "At the very least, if I have a greasy handprint on these, it should go undetected, Grace or not."_

_The hunter offered a wolfish grin and grabbed Cas's behind firmly with one hand, which made the angel let out a noise that might have embarrassed a lesser man, but it hardly seemed to faze Castiel. "Let's test that theory." He pulled Cas close enough that their legs were bumping against one another and their hips nearly touching. "It's only fair, really. I'm already sporting your handprint."_

_Cas's palm moved to the spot on Dean's shoulder where the scar, no longer raised, but still discolored, remained. "Yes, you are." His voice normally sounded like it had been dragged across gravel, but now it sounded like it had taken multiple trips._

_"Ew, gross," came the voice of the ten-year-old sounding like every ten-year-old forced to witness a display of affection between his parents._

#

Dean woke, remembering far too much of his dream for his own liking. For a straight week, he'd been having these dreams, and he was beginning to wish for memories of hell. At least with the nightmares, when Dean woke up, he was grateful to be awake. When Dean dreamed of him and Cas in some kind of domestic little portrait, he found himself reluctant to go back to a waking world where he'd obviously crossed some invisible line with his friend and where the angel seemed to be pointedly ignoring him. Oh yeah, and Sam was at the house again and he and Cas were back to doing their nightly little meetings that didn't include Dean.

In the early hours of the morning when he was awake before he wanted to be, remembering tauntingly happy dreams where the interactions between himself and his best friend were getting increasingly more intimate, Dean could admit that he was jealous of his brother. It didn't even help to know that Sam was in a relationship, had no interest in Cas that way and that Cas didn't seem to have any interest in Sam, either.

He couldn't talk about the dreams he'd been having or even why he thought Cas was a little more distant than usual because he didn't trust Bobby or Sam to keep it to themselves, or at least to not ridicule him for it or read too damn much into what he'd been dreaming. While he liked Jody and Emma, he didn't know either of them well enough to talk about anything so private. Same went for Andrea. And though Missouri-who had been keeping in touch since the webcam conversation-might seem like a natural choice to talk to, since she'd understand all of the underlying meanings beneath these weird dreams, she wasn't exactly someone Dean felt like opening up to. He had done some research online, which helped a little. Some said his dreams meant something along the line of wish fulfillment, while others stated it was an underlying desire to be closer to the person in his dreams.

That second one he could buy because the first was a realm that Dean didn't want to think about, not to mention hugely unrealistic on his subconscious's part. Unfortunately, the closer relationship theory generally applied to dreams about sex, which was not where his mind was going.

Last night, he'd been dreaming about a werewolf hunt, and he killed one of the bastards before it could get a jump on Cas, earning a scratch on his arm in the process. Immediately afterward, Cas had treated the wound and wrapped it. Oddly enough, his brain had forgotten that Cas had mojo. The night before, it had been a Dr. Sexy marathon on the TV in his head (which had  _actually_ been on TV earlier that night) and the two were stretched across Bobby's couch, which Dean's imagination had widened as well as lengthened so they could both fit, Cas's back to Dean's front. The hunter had wrapped his arm around Cas, whose own arm and hand rested over Dean's as they curled their fingers together. Yet another had Dean in the process of making Spaghettios for Johnny at Bobby's stovetop when the angel came up behind him, placed his hands at either of Dean's hips, and nipped at Dean's neck.

If the dreams had been about sex, they might have made more sense; Dean had found himself starring in his own fantasies with Dr. Sexy before, even with a young Robert Plant. He'd only had these domestic sort of dreams about Lisa, and at least then, he'd had a relationship to base it upon.

Dean found himself sinking back into the pillows, hoping that he would go back to such a deep sleep and yet dreading it all the same.

#

_Dean slowly began to rally, noticing his arms were really uncomfortable, even more so than the rest of his aching body, and sadly, he had been in this position often enough to know that it meant his hands were tied together and had been for some time. He was seated on hard wooden floors and his aching head let him know that he'd been knocked out. He opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. It looked like a sort of hut, with old wood floors, patch jobs that must have been hastily completed. Dean was fairly sure he knew where he was, but he didn't understand why. Hadn't they fixed this?_

_Realizing he wasn't tied to a pole this time around, Dean stood and tried to work his hands out of the ropes. The hut had two mattresses on the floor, a large California king that had seen better days and a fairly pristine twin. There were drawings on the walls, most done by a child's hand. Whoever this hut belonged to obviously wanted to pretend this wasn't a ratty hut that barely kept out the chill. A few half-broken toys were piled neatly in one corner like cherished treasures. Dean knew that feeling, since it had been how he and Sam had treated their toys throughout almost all of their childhood._

_He could hear voices outside; the plastic that served as a window did little to keep out the clear voices that he recognized all too well. Cas's voice he would have known anywhere, and while the other man used clipped, rushed tones, Dean knew the voice was his own._

_"I'll watch him, Dean," Cas said. Though the plastic gave everything a Vaselined lense-like haze, he thought he could see Cas's arm was in what looked like a dark sling, and the dark on his cheeks might have been the start of a beard. "I know you don't like sending a team against demons alone. Just in case he's..." Cas didn't finish the thought, but Dean knew that the rest of the statement was about Sam, about Sam being Lucifer._

_"Are you sure you can, with your arm?"_

_"It's you, Dean. He won't do anything to hurt us. And if I can keep Johnny from killing himself playing daredevil, I can keep an eye on this other you." There was affection in the tone, and far more emotion than Dean was used to hearing from his friend. They obviously had a history here, which was obvious both in the other Dean's concern and the warmth in Cas's voice. It was small consolation that the angel was not the drugged up, burned out cynic that he'd encountered last time in Camp Chataqua. But it made Dean almost gut-wrenchingly sick to think that Johnny was here too, even if he was glad his son was at least still alive._

_"I should go, then," Dean said in that same, short tone. It lacked as much emotion as Cas's voice seemed to have acquired. The plastic was slightly less warped on the alter Dean's side of the window, and it allowed the younger version to see hands twitching and body leaning almost instinctively toward the angel (or was it former angel now?). He'd no sooner seen the movement than he watched the man pull back. Dean could just make out the resulting slump in Cas's shoulders._

_A glance back at the hut answered many of the questions that Dean had running through his mind after watching that exchange. The large mattress and its pillows held indentations from two bodies, both as far apart as possible. On the wall furthest from the door and closest to the smaller mattress, there were little mementos like a picture of Dean and Cas leaning against the Impala, well worn pieces of leather and tan fabric that probably came from their coats, paintings and drawings done by Johnny over the years, and a photo of Bobby. The other side was all business, weapons holsters, ammo and guns just out of a boy's reach. Dean had to wonder if he and Cas had been together at some point between his present and this horrible future._

_Though there was evidence to argue otherwise scattered through the small hut, Dean's gut instinct was that he and Cas had been together and the world, or possibly even Dean himself, had screwed it all up._

_"Sir?" said a small voice that Dean didn't recognize, even if he was intimately familiar with the_ way _it said that single word. He'd heard it uttered from his own lips, from Sammy's lips, and Dean knew that he was hearing it from his son's long before he turned to face the boy. Dean had loved his father despite it, but never, ever, had he thought he would hear his_ own _son address him like a good little soldier._

_Johnny was thinner than Dean would have liked and his wide green eyes held a bit of trepidation. He was careful and uncertain of what his next move should be. "You're tied up."_

_Dean gave a quirk of his lips that made Johnny look at him curiously. Dean wondered if the boy had ever seen him really smile. "Thank you for stating the obvious. Think you could help get me out of these.?"_

_"Are you a shifter?" Johnny asked._

_"He's not a shifter," Cas said from the main doorway. The hunter turned and saw he'd been right about the sling. The angel wore only a T-shirt, which gave Dean a clear view of the angel's carefully wrapped arm. The hunter recognized the technique as his own, and he had to admit he was a little pleased that he hadn't become so much of an asshole that he would leave Cas's treatment to someone else's hands._

" _But, Dad, I saw you outside with Dean." Something inside Dean's chest tore out the moment he heard his son call him Dean. He didn't begrudge Cas the moniker of "Dad," but couldn't they have at least shared it or come up with some other fatherly name for Dean? Was he that much of an dick that he didn't bother to be a father to his son anymore?_

_Cas came a little closer to Dean. Like the last time Dean had been here, Cas was immediately at ease around him, even though it was obvious he found Dean's presence just as wrong. The growing beard at his cheeks made him seem older, so did the new wrinkles around the still-bright-blue eyes. His fingers were quick when he managed to untie the ropes around the hunter's wrists with just the one hand. "He's from the past," Cas explained to Johnny. "Back when you were a baby."_

_"How did you know when I'm from?" Dean couldn't help the question as it escaped his lips._

_"Because," Cas said, and he smiled with a mix of affection and heartache that made something in Dean want to break just a little. "I know you better than anyone."_

" _He looks a lot younger than that," Johnny said, eying him up suspiciously. His arms were crossed and he had backed himself toward a knife kept at his own bedside. Dean had probably trained his son in how to use that, at least. He probably would have the guns as well, but they all would have had far too much kickback for a kid of seven or eight to handle with just one hand._

" _These last few years have aged him a great deal, Johnny. They aged us all." Cas moved to the boy's side and guided him toward Dean and away from the knife. "Once upon a time, a man of forty didn't look like he was fifty."_

" _Do I at least still have all of my hair?" Dean asked with a cheeky grin, because he had no other response to this mess._

_Cas quirked a smile at that, just as sad as the look he'd given him before. "It's gone a little white in places, but yes, you have your hair._

" _White I can deal with. Dealt with it before." He had been turned to about eighty by that damned warlock, after all._

" _He doesn't act like Dean," Johnny said, and now_ he _was the one giving Dean sad looks. "Was this what he'd have been like?"_

" _You know, I_ am  _in the room."_

" _Yeah, well where are you_ now _?" the boy asked with anger and hurt lacing his words. He ran out of the little hut, and to Dean's surprise, Cas didn't follow after him._

" _There are few places a person can get privacy around here. In a moment, you'll hear him climb onto the roof. It's where he goes to think and cool down. I don't begrudge him that." Cas reached for Dean's wrist and gently rubbed at the red marks where the ropes had been. His hand moved to the other._

" _How'd you hurt your arm?"_

" _Bullet. Friendly fire from Risa. Which is probably as friendly as she and I get, I suppose."_

" _I don't...?" Dean didn't finish the question because it was weird enough to think he was with Cas, let alone cheating on him, too. Unfortunately, the way those blue eyes refused to meet his was answer enough. "I'm a real bastard, aren't I?"_

" _You just aren't the man you used to be." Cas looked back up at Dean's face. "_ God _, I miss you."_

#

He'd screwed himself over, he knew it, thinking about how he'd rather have nightmares than have these pleasant dreams where everything was perfect. The Croatoan dream hadn't been any better on either account. Not only was the idea of Sam still somehow becoming prey to Lucifer one of Dean's biggest fears, but the idea that he would so royally fuck up both Johnny and Cas, yet inexplicably still have their loyalty if not love, tore at him. That nightmare had still given him what he wanted, the family, but provided him with what he feared simultaneously. He really hated his brain sometimes.

If the dreams where Dean was in a relationship with Cas were disturbing him, the idea that he would trap the angel into some warped relationship like what he'd imagined was even worse. Sadly, the idea of he and Cas in a completely messed up romantic relationship seemed infinitely more probable than the possibility that they would have the happy little moments of domesticity that Dean's brain produced in more pleasant dreams.

When Dean's phone rang, he saw it as a welcome relief, and if his face spread into a grin when he realized that it was Ramona calling him, so what? "Hey," he said as he answered, doing his best to seem smooth and not desperate for something to do that would keep hos mind from wandering.

"Hey yourself," her voice came teasingly back. She did have a great phone voice. Not like Cas's at all. His was so raspy normally that across the usually crappy speakers of Dean's cheap phone, Cas only ever sounded staticcy, even when he wasn't. "So, I was wondering what you might think about cashing in that playdate today. Fallyn was counting on getting to see Johnny."

Though Dean knew that could very well be true, he sort of suspected that maybe Fallyn wasn't the only one wanting a playdate. That sounded just like the kind of distraction Dean had been hoping for.

#

Dean had been disappointed when Ramona first showed up with Fallyn and it became very obvious that this  _was_  going to be just a playdate for their children. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, really. He still hadn't ruled out the possibility that something might go down later, but he was certain that whatever happened, it wasn't going to be like it had been in high school, where he would spend the entire time making out on the couch with someone's babysitter.

For now, they were all on the sofa watching the new Muppets movie. Reruns of the Muppet Show and of course Sesame Street had been one of the few consistent things of Dean's childhood. It seemed there was always one channel somewhere showing the Muppets and every state had its own PBS station to air Sesame Street. So, yeah, he was a little happy when he saw Kermit finally show on the screen instead of the new muppet and the guy from the show with Neil Patrick Harris.

It was somewhere around the spot where they were trying to pick up Miss Piggy that Dean felt Johnny slump against his side. Fallyn looked moments away from sleep, herself.

"Would it be okay if we let them wait out their nap here?" she asked.

And suddenly, Dean was feeling like a teenager all over again. They'd put the kids to sleep and... well, see where things go from there. Everything below the waist was on board with the idea. "Yeah," Dean said. "No problem at all. We can put them in Johnny's crib. It's big enough."

"Sure," she said, standing and then gathering Fallyn into her arms. The two-year-old's limbs were limp as she settled her head against Ramona's shoulder. Dean carried Johnny the same way, leading Ramona with Fallyn up the stairs and toward the end of the hallway.

"That is an amazing mobile," Ramona whispered as soon as they walked into Johnny's room. "You did an incredible job on this room."

"Actually," Dean said just as quietly, "this was Cas's doing. And his family—on his … mom's side—gave us the mobile I just put together some of the furniture. Though, Cas did the crib so Johnny would have a place to sleep when we got him home."

"It sounds like he's very close to Johnny." There was something underneath that statement that Dean just couldn't place. It didn't sound like jealousy. He'd have recognized that straight out, but he thought it was a little bemused, a little curious. And, yeah, he could understand that. On the outside, Dean knew what he and Cas looked like. Emma had already made that mistake, which was why he was so quick to clarify and hopefully prevent any more misunderstandings, especially with a woman he was really hoped would help him end this recent dry streak.

"He found him for me," Dean said. "They got to bond even before I did."

Ramona smiled. "Mind giving me the tour?" and the way she asked that, combined with the fact they were already upstairs and alone in the house, was definitely perking Dean up.

"Sure," he said with a grin as they walked out of the nursery and pointed toward the door to Bobby's room. He thought it was probably better not to open the door because God only knew what Bobby would have been working on up there or what a mess it might be. Sam's door was wide open, so he didn't mind letting Ramona have a glimpse inside. The place was fairly spotless, though Sam had left his duffel out and was probably working his way through the clothes inside before he did laundry again. (Dean personally thought his brother was living out of the bag because Emma had washed the whole thing while Sam had stayed with her and Sam liked the fact that his clothes smelled like her girly fabric softener. Whether that was because Sam was as much of a girl as Dean sometimes thought he was or because he was still in that lovey-dovey stage of the relationship where he liked the smell of  _her_ , Dean didn't know, but it was sickening all the same.)

"The bathroom we all have to share," he said as he passed the bathroom that still boasted matching olive green porcelain everything. At least it was clean. Though that wasn't too surprising. Cas had the tendency to over-clean any room that had the potential to pose a hazard to Johnny, mainly the bathrooms and kitchen.

"And this is my humble bedroom." He led her into the room and almost instantly groaned as he saw the gray-colored jeans discarded on the bed along with the Red Bull shirt Sam had bought for Cas on his trip at Emma's, with its broad white wings on the back.

"No offense, but those seem a little small for you," Ramona said as she held up the jeans obviously made for Cas's more slender frame.

"They're Cas's," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. "Guy's a total neat freak until it comes to his clothes."

"You share the room?" Ramona asked slowly. And there was that tone again.

"Nah. Just the closet. Cas is sort of an insomniac. He usually does just as well with the sofa downstairs." Dean quickly opened said closet to toss in the angel's clothes. He saw her taking note of its contents when he opened the door. He shut it again shortly after, not entirely sure that the closet was 100 percent weapon free.

"Your room's very nice, Dean. The whole house is. And I can tell how much you and your family care about Johnny." He felt her standing beside him now, warmth against his arm. "I know you are new to the whole Dad thing, but it looks like you're doing a pretty awesome job, from what I can see."

He wasn't quite sure what the protocol was when your kids were playmates, but he was willing to take his cues from Ramona. Her thin fingers tickled over his arm, rubbing up and then down.

Touch was usually a good thing, in Dean's experience. He slowly turned and mimicked her action on the arm that didn't have a hand currently sliding its way up his forearm and elbow. She was tall, so when he leaned down to place a kiss on her lips, he didn't really have to bend down much. Her fingers toyed with the edge of his T-shirt sleeve as a second kiss followed, a little more forceful, a little more sure than the first.

Dean Winchester might not know protocol for getting some action with your son's friend's mother, but he did no how to kiss a woman.

His hand moved from her arm to the back of her neck as he kissed her solidly on the lips, tongue tentatively tracing the line in that soft, pink mouth. His fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of her neck and damned if her left hand wasn't now sliding to Dean's waist and down to cup his ass. The surprise was momentary and lasted only long enough for the hunter to get his bearings once again. His tongue moved past her lips to taste and explore.

Her right hand slid up his arm beneath the shirt, and had she never done that, all would have gone perfectly well . But she did and it didn't. The pads of her fingers brushed over the slightly raised scar, and while it didn't seem to faze her in the slightest, it felt very wrong for Dean. He instinctively shifted his arm away and consequently broke their kiss.

"Dean?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he answered immediately. "Yes ..."

"If it's about the scar, those really don't bother me. Considering Fallyn was a C-section, it would be hugely hypocritical of me." She pulled at the waistband of her pants to reveal a pink line that would just barely be covered by the average bikini. It wasn't big, but it was there, and Dean wasn't bothered by it in the least. He had far more and worse scars than the one on his shoulder. Besides, she was still an incredibly sexy woman with just a hint of "I'll-kick-your-ass-if-I-need-to."

He gave her an appreciative smile for her reassurances. "It isn't that there's a scar, so much. I've got a lot of normal ones. This one just is a little less normal than most." And he prepared the cover he'd used in the past, with enough details where needed and not too many where risky, in order to suit Ramona's medical background. "Couple years ago, I was working on an old car and while I was getting things ready to drain the various fluids—anti-freeze, oil, you know."

She nodded and moved her hands to his, to provide support for a possibly difficult story.

"The car had been sitting there a while, and God only knows what stuff had collected over all that time, but I shifted something in that engine that had a messload of something all over my chest. Stuff reacted to my shirt, too, and when Cas was at the yard that day and he heard me screaming. Guy didn't even think about his own safety before he was pulling me out.

"But since that's where my shirt made the most contact with my body, it's what left the most obvious mark." He rolled his sleeve up to show the handprint he had worn for the last four years. "Never quite healed right."

A single finger traced over the scar. Unlike Anna, who had insisted upon matching her hand to what Cas had left behind, she was careful, almost analytical of the slightly raised patch of skin. "I've never seen anything like this. It's amazing."

She gave Dean a faint smirk. "And people think I'm tough for getting all of my tattoos. This is something else." Fingers lightly traced and pressed against the scar. Though Dean had a few keloid scars in his life, all of which had lost a little of feeling after healing, the one left behind by Castiel was as sensitive to touch as the rest of the hunter's skin.

"I'm sure you've had to explain it before."

"More often than the tattoo." He pulled down the collar of his T-shirt to reveal the protection spell hidden beneath.

"It has an explanation?" she asked with a grin, taking far more liberty with the ink than she had the mark on his arm.

"Old protection symbol. My brother has one too. If you knew everything we've been through, you'd know how much we need it." He grinned and raised his hand to push her hair off her cheek.

For just a moment, Ramona looked ready to stretch her fingers up to cover over the mark on Dean's arm, but as her eyes met his, she only smiled, patted his arm without actually attempting to match the scar, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She glanced at the electric alarm clock by her bed."Fallyn has to go to her dad's today, and I should probably start getting her ready. We'll have to do this again soon."

Dean didn't know what had happened, but he was beginning to feel like Cas was being a ginormous cockblocker without even trying, without even  _being_  there.

After seeing Ramona and Fallyn out, fairly sure he'd just been friend-zoned, but not entirely sure why, he sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. It was one of those telenovellas that Bobby swore he didn't watch, but really knew every character and backstory to. Dean didn't really speak a lick of Spanish, beyond ordering a drink, finding a bathroom, and a few choice insults. Luckily, the action was easy enough to understand that he had no trouble following along.

Somewhere along the line of a pretty girl confessing some kind of feelings to an even prettier guy (Dean considered pulling out the computer just to confirm it was a guy), he began to doze.

#

_Dean wasn't typically the little spoon, though he had to admit that it came with some benefits, like no questioning what to do with his arm or having it go numb halfway through the night and no hair in his face and mouth. He wasn't about to give up his big spoon status, but when it came to waking up, there were worse ways to do it. Cas must have known he was awake, because a previously still hand was now making slow circles on Dean's hip, and a pair of lightly chapped lips was pressed to the back of the hunter's neck._

_He shifted slightly and mentally took note of the fact that he and his bed partner were in nothing but their birthday suits-or at least Dean's and Jimmy's birthday suits; Dean was still pretty sure if he looked at Cas's his head might explode. Dean could feel the twitch of interest from the angel, pressing at the hunter's tailbone. His own body responded in kind, but his brain wasn't there, not yet._

_"Morning," he said, turning his head so he could get a better look at the angel behind him._

_"Good morning," Cas said, propping himself up on one elbow to kiss him._

_"You know, you don't have to stick around through the night while I'm out cold."_

_"I realize that. But I don't mind. It gives me the opportunity to meditate or communicate with my brothers, while still being here with you."_

_Dean rolled his eyes before turning to fully face his lover. "That's really corny, do you know that?"_

_"I will endeavor to behave differently," Cas said before kissing him again. "Though it will be difficult, since I don't know of any better ways to show that I love you. And you're hardly better than I am most of the time."_

_"Yeah. Guess it's 'cause I love you, too."_

#

Dean had awoken from nightmares less panicked than he was when he bolted upright on Bobby's sofa. His brain just wasn't giving him a break today. First nightmares of Johnny and Cas in that Croatoan dominated world and now making declarations of love to his best friend. No, definitely being a pain in his ass.

The worst part was that a niggling part of his waking brain was pointing out that Dean wasn't really arguing with his brain's assessment of the situation. He had enjoyed, if been a little disturbed by, the dreams that had involved him and Cas as a couple doing normal couple-y things, even the ones where there was some kind of undertone to a hunt. Today, all Dean could do was bury his head in his hands and heave a shuddering sigh. He'd had sex dreams about friends, enemies, people he'd never sleep with in a million years. He only ever had dreams like this about Lisa and Cassie, and that worried the hunter almost as much as the things they hunted.

"Dean?" a voice asked from the corner of the room. The man had gotten better at noticing when the angel was approaching, but he had been so distracted that for the first time in years, he started at Cas's sudden appearance.

"Were you tapping into my head again?" Dean asked with irritation in his voice rather than the fear that really should have been there. He was worried that Cas would figure out what Dean had been dreaming.

"No. I merely returned home from Heaven and found you like this." And damn if something inside Dean didn't get all warm and fuzzy that Cas had just called this his home. Cas moved a little closer but kept a respectful distance that was odd for the angel. "I know that Johnny is asleep and well. I went to his room first. You don't appear to be injured. Is something troubling you?"

"Weird dreams," Dean answered, and he only barely registered as the two fingers were extended toward his temple. He quickly backed away, though he wasn't sure if it was just because he didn't want Cas to know what he'd dreamed or if he was afraid his friend would take them away. They were going to put a serious crimp on how he functioned and how he interacted with the angel standing less than a foot away, but they were some of the nicest dreams he'd had in a long time, excluding the one with the Croats. "Not bad, Cas. Just weird."

Behind the familiar trenchcoat, the telenovella was still going, this time with a very loud lover's spat. It turned Cas's attention away from Dean. "I wasn't aware you spoke Spanish."

"I don't," Dean said, and before the angel could ask the question to accompany the confused expression on his face, he continued, "but I wanted some mindless entertainment. And it's not that hard to follow. I don't know why they're angry, but I know they're angry."

Cas took the seat beside Dean on the sofa and focused his attention on the screen. "He was manipulative and lied about having involvement in a crime syndicate. Also, apparently, she is having another man's child."

"Well, that'd do it." Cas gave a nod of agreement.

Inside Dean's head, the world had been turned upside down, but he was more than capable of keeping things under control outside. This was his best friend, the situation was weird and eventually, they'd find a new kind of normal and his head would stop trying to make him think he was in love with the angel.

He loved the guy, sure. But he loved Sam and Bobby, too. It wasn't any different. It  _wouldn't_  be any different.


	35. Heaven and Other Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Cas did while Dean and Johnny were on their playdate.

" _The connections we make in the course of a life—maybe that's what heaven is."_

_Fred Rogers, children's television host_

There were few things for heaven's new leader to take pleasure in. The responsibilities and authority sucked ass, and his Father's shake-ups were just going to make them worse. So, when one of his little brothers come and asked him to screw with Dean Winchester's dreams, he'd jumped at the chance. Unfortunately, thanks to a mess going on in a small monastery in Italy, he'd only managed to give the dreams a very specific angelic focus.

It was probably for the best that he hadn't been able to micromanage the content of those dreams. The last time he'd tried his hand at romance, she'd caught him in his lies and dumped him, but she'd ended up in a relationship with a perfectly rational—and consequently unendingly infuriating—pagan god. He knew his ability to be romantic was stunted even more than old Dean-o's. But he had at least made it so the hunter's thoughts would focus on Castiel.

He was about to peek in to see just how things were progressing when Azrael floated in, almost literally, to his little corner of heaven. There were only a few things he feared, and she gave him a case of the heebie jeebies that were damned near impossible to shake. There was something supernatural about her, even for an angel.

Of course, that could be the whole Angel of Death thing, and that she was the one with him when Lucifer had killed him.

"More good news?" he asked with a sigh. She offered a small quirk of her lips at his frustration. She had a slightly sadistic sense of humor, but at least she had one. That was more than he could say for most of the other angels. He'd take anyone up here who could crack a smile, even if it was at his expense.

"Father Constantine Guisard has been healed and will survive. Unfortunately, we were not able to save a number of his fellows." She walked past where he was sitting and gazed out of the window that overlooked a "lake," which was somewhere in Switzerland on Earth. "The prophet monk is understandably distraught, but I have in in a safehouse much like I did for the Winchester's prophet. Though, I am sure Father Constantine is more at peace there than Chuck."

"You did that?" he asked, and Azrael barely nodded her head before he burst out in laughter. "You have more of a sense of humor than people give you credit for."

"I  _do_  try sometimes, but many of you are too terrified of me to notice." He didn't even bother arguing with Azrael on that point. They'd both see through it. She turned back from the window. "He has shirked his responsibilities far too often and we both know he has secretly wanted more people to worship him and recognize his talent. I gave that to him and a safe house in one go."

"Don't you think it's a little cruel?"

"Cruel would have been to not have an open bar. Especially if you are successful in your little side endeavor. I imagine the images of Dean and Castiel will require quite the amount of liquor to wash out of his memory." Azrael offered a small smirk.

And while he was more than willing to help on that front,  _he_  really didn't want those images of his youngest brother and the hunter, either. "Back to the monk... Did we get all of his records?"

"I was told that the angels got all of the 'important' ones and most of the others."

"The 'important' ones?"

"I already have them scouring through the lineages to see whose was missing," she said. "Unfortunately, because only four of us have even the foggiest about the whole story, the underlings are bound to make mistakes. We need to ask the chief to broaden what falls into 'need to know' information, or we will be cleaning up many more messes."

"Father's got big plans." He huffed a laugh. "It's been a long time since I said that."

"And it is about time God got his act together. Behaving like an absentee father nearly ended everything." Azreal spoke with more emotion in her voice than she probably managed over a hundred conversations. She sounded angry in the way a person was only ever angry at family. It was telling, since so many of the other angels just assumed she considered herself something above them.

To anyone else, Azreal in her anger should have been less approachable, there was something so  _real_  about her for once now that the carefully held control was gone. "I know I was off in witness protection, but what about you? Where were you when the Apocalypse went down?"

Azrael's fists clenched at her side. "I was tied up. I wasn't allowed to do a damned thing while Michael and Lucifer prepared to settle their sibling rivalry on a worldwide scale. I couldn't do a bloody thing except take orders..." And the carefully constructed wall rose back up once again. She was the same unapproachable angel she had always been.

"I will check on the seraph's progress."

"Let me know what you find," he said, going back into his role as counsel leader.

"Of course, Gabriel," Azrael said before leaving him alone in the lakeside lodge borrowed from someone else's heaven.

#

Castiel had been helping Metatron locate an appropriate family for his current vessel. He intended to wipe the boy's memories and place him somewhere safe. Given that he already spoke French, but they wanted some distance from the boy's father in France, they had looked first in Quebec.

They had appeared, in all of their angelic glory—within the limits of burning out the couple's eyes—before a lovely man and woman who, like the boy, were descended from Enoch. They were devout and loving people, happy to obey the word of two of God's angels requesting them to take on this teenaged boy with the promise that paperwork, the boy's past, all of it would be taken care of.

Castiel had felt quite happy to help a second child now find a good home that his first instinct had been to return home to see Johnny. It seemed Dean had only recently left the boy and another little girl sleeping in the crib. The girl was older than Johnny by very nearly two years, but she was curled close to him in sleep as though he was her very best friend.

He realized the girl must be Fallyn, and Castiel couldn't help but think as he spied the girl's soul that this early friendship would last for quite some time in the future. They were kindred spirits, even if they were far too young to know that yet. He found himself smiling at this piece of information, and he decided he would keep it tucked away for now. Dean had explained often enough that there were just some things that a person needed to discover on his own.

The angel gently placed his hand over the girl's braided hair and offered a small blessing upon the child. Instinctively, the child leaned into his touch before grabbing hold of Johnny's T-shirt and settling back onto the bed.

His attention shifted back to the boy. He ran his fingers through baby-soft hair and smiled as Johnny's lips quirked upward in response to his touch. Castiel knew that he was supposed to love all humans alike, but he also knew he loved Johnny more. And the boy wasn't the first to find favor above all others with the angel. The Winchesters and Bobby had a long time ago.

Castiel could hear Dean and a woman, likely Fallyn's mother, talking from Dean's bedroom. The house's walls were not designed to keep out noise. Castiel had traveled with the Winchesters long enough to know what it meant when Dean managed to get a woman to his bedroom.

The angel took that as his cue and left, and went back to heaven.

"I am really going this time," Castiel said as he stood in front of Balthazar at a pub along the new Heaven's Main Street. This one looked to have been plucked out of 1960s England, and Balthazar looked quite at home as he took a sip of red wine. The bar was largely empty, save for a few of Heaven's population and the two angels. (The ability to mingle with other occupants of Heaven was being slowly implemented, but notice had not yet gotten to much of those who had died earlier than 1980.)

"So you say. So you've  _said_. I don't believe it." Balthazar said with a huff and an irritated tilt of his head. "Call me from Rio or send me a postcard."

Castiel held his hands out, palm up. "Please," he said. He rarely used that word, and it had not come easily in that moment, either. "I  _need_  an answer."

"Of course you do," the other angel said. "But you don't  _want_  one. You have two options in front of you: either you find out that you are just finally ready to pop that cherry and Dean is convenient fodder for your fantasies or you want only Dean, who you think won't want you back."

"He won't," Castiel assured his brother. He gestured to his trenchcoat and suit. "I will change. Then you might believe I am serious."

"You've flown off on me twice as it is," Balthazar said. "I don't think you'll stick around if I take away your security blanket, too. We'll go and pretend we're businessmen fresh off the plane."

He stood and threw an arm over the dark-haired angel's shoulders. "Let's get you a little action."

#

"You took him to Rio?" Metatron asked incredulously. "Again."

"And the chicken went and flitted off on me. He was inches away from kissing this gorgeous bloke who totally wanted to shag him and off he went."

"So, basically it was the same as when you tried to get him to dance with that woman." Metatron followed Balthazar through the streets of Pompeii, which were still being reconstructed by some of the seraphs. "Did you expect anything different?"

"No, but I think the point is clear, at the very least. Everything functions just fine, but the only person he wants to have it function  _with_  is Dean Winchester."

Metatron winced at the unwanted imagery that flooded his brain at that statement. "How is it that you're so at ease talking about this when Castiel is  _actually_  your brother?" Metatron had trouble with the imagery, and he was something more akin to a step-brother, if that.

Balthazar merely shrugged. "It just feels like the right thing to do. Those two can stare at one another in a way that just isn't natural and for longer than should be possible, and Cassie's whole world revolves around Dean. Johnny, now, too."

The blond opened a heavy door and led Metatron into the house. "So when does your great-great-whatever-grandson go to his new family?"

"Everything will be ready tomorrow, I believe," the angel said. "I've already visited his father in this vessel, frightened him and might have put the fear of the wrath of heaven into him. Right after I planted enough evidence for police to finally arrest him for the things he has been doing to children for the last two decades."

"Good on you," Balthazar said. "But that means you will need another vessel. And that's where I come in. I've found you a new meat suit. Not too bad on the eyes, and with the bonus that this one will be permanent."

"I'm not wearing someone else's skin forever," Metatron said as he followed his friend into the triclinium, the ancient Roman dining room. "Even if they're not in it."

"Here's the thing... You know that Jophiel has been  _dying_  to expand her field of work. She was unbelievably jealous that a mere Angel of Thursday got to rebuild a human being from the ground up and that Anael never came to her when she wanted her old body back, either. She's been ranting for ages that creating from flesh and bone should be the Angel of Artists' job, so I proposed a suggestion to her."

Balthazar stood aside and let Metatron see, finally, what was resting on the lounge-like sofas in the dining room. It was  _him_. His flesh, his black hair, his beard, his nose—it had always been slightly prominent, but suited his face—his body. It was rebuilt and waiting on him.

"You... how did you do this?"

"Angels are a little more free-thinking now, thanks to Cassie. And Jophiel didn't need an order from God to do it this time around. God's also lightened up on the whole, 'if-he-still-has-his-human-body-he-will-never-relate-to-other-angels' thing." Balthazar was grinning; Metatron suspected that it was partly at the pride that he had stunned God's own scribe to silence, but it seemed that he was mostly just happy for his friend.

"Try it on."

Metatron pressed his hand to  _his_  forehead and transferred his Grace from his descendant's body to the newly created copy of his own. The moment he was back inside the forty-year-old form, he felt at ease once again. Dark brown eyes opened to find his friend carefully placing the teenaged body on the nearby sofa with a level of care that too many assumed Balthazar didn't possess.

"How does it feel?" Balthazar asked, and he sounded just a bit nervous.

"Perfect," Metatron said, standing and moving without the awkwardness that he always had in someone else's borrowed body.

"It's like your very own bespoke vessel."

The former human smiled, then clapped his hands to either of Balthazar's shoulders and kissed the man on each cheek. It had been the appropriate means of showing gratitude when he'd last felt the weight of these limbs and it had been instinctual to do it again. Though he spoke many languages and adjusted his language depending upon the audience, Metatron was fairly certain that when he thanked his friend aloud, it had been in his native tongue.

#

She had an old name, one that dated back thousands of years and given to her by her father. The body was relatively new, for her at least; she'd only had it a few years now. The name she went by was just a few years older than that. Her purpose had been ripped away from her and then she'd been forced to team up with new demons and take orders from complete idiots.

Meg could feel their eyes on her as she looked at the so-called "worthless" sheet of paper in her hands. Apparently the first of the two self-proclaimed leaders wasn't quite as dumb as his friend who was just staring at them both slack-jawed. There had been enough glee on Meg's face when she'd looked at these family trees to at least make #1 suspicious. #2 was too busy worrying about where he might get off next.

She trained her expression to as close to neutral as she could manage until both of the demons were focused again on the loot that was obviously useful.

Even the angels seemed to have found no value in the papers she was holding in her hands at that moment. It had been abandoned in a church in Italy when word had reached heaven of the demons' planned attack. There were documents that were important to get out of there, vessels' families who were important to protect, so if the lines of Aaron and Boaz were discovered, it shouldn't matter because their angels were long gone. Raphael had been gone for just over a year and Uriel had been offed sometime in '09.

Meg was, apparently, better at math than her compatriots. Better at a lot of other things, too, in her own humble opinion. She couldn't help but notice two brand new births noted at the end of the scrolls, right where the two lines intersected. One born in March of this year and another born in January of 2010.

"Anything good?" a voice at Meg's side asked.

"Possibly. Not that Tweedles Dee and Dum would realize it." Meg doesn't entirely trust the woman-turned-demon at her side. She knows that Bella couldn't give a damn about getting their Lord back out of the cage, but she does at least have a healthy desire for revenge against Dean Winchester for their time together in Hell and against Heaven for saving him instead of her. For now, at least, their goals had them on similar paths.

"I thought both Uriel and Raphael were long gone."

"So did I. So why keep records on the vessels of dead angels? And why do they have births that just so happen to coincide with dates nine months after the angels' deaths?"

"You're thinking they could be useful allies?" Bella asked. Meg was pleased she didn't need to spell this all out for her. It was a refreshing change of pace since Meg's brother and father died. Though, at least with dumb ones, she wasn't so worried about watching her back; when the stupid ones tried anything, she could catch on long before they succeeded.

"Uriel was already in our camp by the end; Raphael though... He was squarely backing Michael. If he's a mere child, though, we can do something about that, reeducate him, perhaps. At the very least, we may convince him to help us pop the cage. He might have been rooting for the other guy, but at least he wanted to see the grudge match go down. If we find the kids, snag them and their Grace, we could have some real heavy hitters on our side."

"Or at the very least, the Grace of a seraph and an archangel." Bella smiled. "Do you want to go after the kids and let me see if any of my contacts can give me some info on some fallen Grace?"

Meg couldn't help but think that her father would have liked Bella and her self-starting attitude. "That sounds fine with me. My people are a little better at turning up living things. I should be able to find Shantiah and Augustus Jackson and their bouncing baby boys in no time."

"I assume our commanders don't need to hear about this?"

"If they were dumb enough to toss this out as garbage, then they've given up any right to be informed."

#

Castiel was perched atop Mount Kilimanjaro, doing his very best to clear his head. Sadly, it wasn't working. He was certain Balthazar would never take him out again, and he didn't even think he wanted to go back. He was sure now that he had his answer about his feelings toward Dean. Really, he had always known it, but it was not what he wanted.

He was apparently capable of getting some response from and genuinely appreciating attractive human forms. Castiel had never had difficulty admiring the aesthetics of humans or the pull of their souls. But none affected him as strongly as Dean.

Castiel didn't doubt that it had a lot to do with the bond he already had with the hunter. They were friends, they trusted one another. They both understood one another's mistakes and had reached the point of forgiveness for them. If he were to develop a preference for one human, it was probably a given that it would be Dean.

What the angel found most confusing was that these feelings would come on after years of no indication. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this body was truly his own now, that he had Jimmy Novak's consent to treat it as such. Maybe it was Johnny and how the baby's presence had forced their relationship to change, to transform from friends to something much vaguer. It may even have been that dream, the feeling Castiel had gotten when Dean reached out and grabbed hold of his hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

All that the angel was certain of was that Dean didn't want their relationship to change. He had made that clear the morning after that dream, and it was clear he was on his way toward at least a fling with this Ramona woman.

That was when Castiel sensed Dean's distress, which spared the angel from more of his own. He quickly stopped at Johnny's side to find the boy was still asleep, but alone in the crib this time. Castiel could sense that the girl and her mother were no longer in the house. He was slightly ashamed by his relief at that.

He reappeared in the corner of the room where Dean sat, hunched and holding his head. "Dean?" he asked tentatively. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate to say anything more. Dean looked up at him, and Castiel would have sworn he saw a little fear there, but he quickly covered it with anger. That was fairly standard for the hunter.

"Were you tapping into my head again?" Dean didn't want Castiel to view whatever it was he'd been dreaming about. That wasn't unusual, since he was typically very protective of his dreams and inner thoughts.

"No," he answered. It was largely true. He had sensed Dean's sudden worry and fear, but he hadn't actually seen the cause of it. Though their connection made it difficult for Castiel to block out Dean's moments of distress, even the ones that were caused by nothing more than a dream.

Castiel took a few steps forward, but considering what he had tried to do today, what he had proven to himself, he held himself back. "I know that Johnny is asleep and well. I went to his room first. You don't appear to be injured. Is something troubling you?"

"Weird dreams." Instinctively, Castiel extended his fingers to try to take the bad memories away. Dean saw the movement and pulled back. "Not bad, Cas. Just weird."

For a moment, Castiel considered apologizing for even offering to remove the dreams from Dean's memories, as they seem to hold something positive in their depths, but he wasn't sure how to say it. He focused instead on the television behind him. It was in Spanish, which was odd. "I wasn't aware you spoke Spanish," he said to Dean, in lieu of that apology.

"I don't," Dean said, then continued on before Castiel could express his confusion, "but I wanted some mindless entertainment. And it's not that hard to follow. I don't know why they're angry, but I know they're angry."

Dean made room on the sofa, either knowingly or not, and Castiel took advantage of it to sit beside his friend. If it felt nice to be that close, or if a part of his mind wandered just a bit, there was very little he could do about it.

He tried to focus on the show. Perhaps, given that Castiel had no issues understanding any spoken language—including both pig latin and Klingon, they had discovered after Dean got especially bored and wanted to see how well the angel's "built-in translation software" really worked. "He was manipulative and liked about his involvement in a crime syndicate. Also, apparently, she is having another man's child."

"Well, that'd do it." Cas nodded in response and was impressed that he managed not to stare at Dean's profile as he watched the fight in amusement. He did smile on the few occasions that Dean burst into laughter at the angel's attempts at explaining the action going on in the show. Apparently, using the phrase, "proclivity for promiscuity and lax moral behavior" was worthy of a deep belly laugh.

Castiel found himself laughing, too, even if it was at himself.


	36. Born on the Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny turns one and the family goes all out to celebrate.

_"Birthdays are ordinary days sprinkled with stardust."_

_Jonathan Swift._

Bobby's house was not what Emma had expected, though Sam had assured her that it once had looked exactly like she thought it would. Though Bobby was a very sweet man and fiercely protective of the two brothers, Emma didn't take him as the housekeeping type. And by all accounts, he wasn't normally. But he was keeping the house clean for Johnny and he had Sam and Cas to help-Dean, from the sound of it, just maintained what he needed to for Johnny's sake and to keep from getting nagged by the neater members of the family.

Today, though, was a demonstration in organized chaos. The house was technically clean, but every bare spot inside and on the porch had been covered in balloons and streamers and little banners proclaiming it was Johnny's first birthday. Sam teased his brother about spending all of the money he'd earned on a recent car rebuild on this one birthday, but Emma had seen her boyfriend going just as overboard for his nephew. Bobby and Castiel were no better.

She wondered sometimes when she looked at the little boy and saw him observing the four men in his life with something akin to awe if it wasn't just a bit overwhelming to be the center of attention for this overprotective bunch. He was small and the memories of the neglect he'd suffered at the hands of that woman, who was his mother by birth alone, couldn't be so strong, but they had still left an impact on the boy. It was there in the way he latched on to anyone willing to hold him and quickly placed his head on their shoulder or, more ideally for him, at their collarbone where he could bury his nose in their neck. After months of barely being touched or held, he was rarely more than a foot away from one of these men-and angel-who obviously loved him very much.

And yes, Emma was getting attached, too.

She may have tracked down where Johnny's mother lived, let the air out of all of her tires, and put out the word around the woman's favorite hang-outs that she had various forms of venereal diseases. Emma wanted to do much more, but the fact that she actually knew an angel of God with smiting capabilities kept her in line.

Johnny was on the floor next to Bobby's coffee table, watching with interest as Dean and Sam argued about trying to level a very un-level cake with extra icing. Sam was all for buying one from the grocery store in town, but Dean had made the cake (the third attempt since number one was burned and number two had an ingredient, they still weren't sure what, left out) and he was "damned well serving it." Emma had been his taste tester for this cake, since the other three in the house had sampled one of the earlier attempts and weren't keen on trying a third. He'd actually done a good job at getting it to taste like devil's food cake. It just stuck a little (a lot) to the pan.

"Do you realize how much icing it would take to even that out? Half of the cake is still glued to the tin."

"I bought two containers. Figured I'd have to fend Cas off of this stuff, what with his sweet tooth." Emma had noticed that, too. Though the angel often ate a little of what everyone else was having, more often than not he got an extra helping of dessert.

She'd noticed other things, too. Something was a little off between the angel and the older brother since she had last seen them together, but they still almost instinctively did things for one another. Dean seemed to be able to do that for Sam and Bobby, too, so that may have just been his nature. Personally, Emma thought even if it wasn't a romantic relationship, Dean and Castiel were a couple, like it or not.

"And if it bothers you too much, we'll mark the side with more cake and less icing so you don't ruin your delicate figure with all that sugar, Samantha."

Sam glared at Dean and snarked something back at Dean about love handles and clogged arteries, but Emma's attention was back on the birthday boy, who was pulling himself to his feet again and letting go of the table as he did. He'd done this several times over the last few days since Emma arrived and fallen more often than not in the process. With just the right hand to grab and regain his balance, he struggled to keep himself upright most of the time. Still, Johnny had tried a step here or a step there and looked to be getting closer to succeeding with each attempt.

"Dean," she said a bit quietly, but hopefully loud enough that the father would hear her. "Dean..."

The man stopped mid-icing and looked at her, then his son, who was free-standing now beside the table with a stance that held more confidence than it had over the last few days. She couldn't hear the whispered "Hey, Cas, bring Bobby," but she could read his lips to see it. Instantly, the angel was at Dean's side with Bobby beside him. Before the older man could grouse about being unexpectedly transported, he saw what everyone was watching. Dean inched forward slowly with the biggest, proudest grin on his face that Emma thought she had ever seen. "Hey, Buddy. Come on." The hand not holding the butter knife covered in white frosting motioned for Johnny to come forward.

All of the men looked at Johnny with barely contained excitement on their faces. Even Castiel, who had probably seen the whole of creation and millions upon millions of humans taking their very first step had a look of anticipation and wonder. Johnny grinned and then tottered for a moment, but he was able to maintain his balance this time around. Dean was crouched down on the floor and was tucking the handle of the knife into his pants pocket. Castiel moved behind him and took the knife back out with a muttered, "It will just go on your shirt when you stand." Yet, the angel's eyes never left Johnny's teetering form.

Dean half knelt as he moved another step closer. "Come on. Come to Daddy."

Johnny was hesitant for a moment before taking another step, then another and another. His feet moved quickly and he was fast on his way toward landing face-first on the ground, but Dean caught him. Emma, Sam and Bobby were clapping and grinning and hooting right along with Dean as the man scooped his son into his arms and hugged him so tight there couldn't have been a millimeter of space between them. "That's my boy!"

From his place at Dean's side, Castiel was smiling and looking every bit as proud, if less vocally so, as the hunter. The angel placed his hand on Johnny's back an rubbed it encouragingly. The baby pulled back from Dean to look at Cas with a broad grin. If the boy could have spoken, Emma swore he would have asked his second father if he'd just seen that. He then looked up at Dean with that same smile. "Little guy, that was awesome!" That bright look on the man's face didn't fade as he turned to Castiel. "I hope you're up to running after our boy."

It had probably been an offhand comment, and maybe Dean had said "our" to mean the whole family, but Emma wasn't so sure. And she was absolutely certain that that word did something to Castiel.

#

Jody had now been taken aback by the look of Bobby's place twice. What the angels had done to it had been amazing, but today she was far more impressed with what four men had done to it for the sake of one little boy's birthday. She realized that one of those "men" had supernatural abilities because he was an angel, but it was still impressive that they had covered the house in streamers and balloons. The yard already had a picnic table set up and the grill looked to be ready to start cooking burgers and hotdogs any time now. She felt like pointing out to them that Johnny wasn't going to remember any of this and she'd been told the guest list was very short, so there was no one to impress.

She thought about it, but realized that this wasn't done for Johnny at all. Not really. It was done for the adults who never got a birthday like this growing up. Two boys who traveled across the country with their father living in a bunch of seedy, cheap motels probably didn't allow for much in the way of birthday celebrations. Neither did growing up the son of an alcoholic asshole and a woman with the worst case of Stockholm Syndrome this side of the Atlantic; yes, she had been well aware of Bobby's past long before he had sat her down and confessed everything about that night and his father.

A pretty blonde, probably mid-twenties even though she could pass for younger, came out carrying a bag of paper plates and napkins along with a few heavy glass paperweights to hold them down. She spotted Jody and headed down the front steps with enviable speed.  _Ah, to be twenty-something again._

"You must be Jody," she said with a smile as she approached. "I'm Emma Wennerstrand, Sam's girlfriend."

"So are you partly responsible for this Fourth-of-July-meets-birthday-party-store explosion that seems to have happened all over the house?"

The girl set her load down on the table and began placing the paperweights on top of the paper products so they wouldn't be picked up by the steady South Dakota wind. "I blew up balloons and tied bows wherever you see them." She laughed as she wadded up the plastic bag she'd carried the plates in. "I swear, those guys can tie any kind of functional knot you can think of, but making an even bow seems out of their depth." She noticed the bags in Jody's hands. "If you have anything that needs to stay cold, we can take it into the house. Presents table is up on the porch." Emma held out her hand to take one of the bags, and the sheriff wasn't too proud to hand over the tupperware cosy-she'd been conned into going to one of those parties once and felt like she  _had_  to buy  _something_ , so sue her-that contained her pasta salad.

"How did you know who I am?" Jody asked as she followed Emma toward the house.

The blonde gave Jody a little, knowing smile. "Because Bobby can't stop talking about you."

And maybe Jody's face turned a little pink in a way it hadn't since she was a kid in middle school. It only got worse when Emma let out a small chuckle. "Bobby," she called into the house as they made their way to the kitchen. "Jody's here."

Jody didn't feel nearly so embarrassed when she heard a hushed voice asking, "D'you think I should scrap the hat or not?"

"Just go get her, Romeo," she heard Dean reply, not as quietly.

Bobby walked out carrying a bag of charcoal, but the moment he saw Jody, he looked as though he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. "I guess you're going to be the grillmaster today?" she asked as he nervously tried to tell her hello. She could understand why at that moment Emma was looking at him like he was quite possibly the sweetest thing she had seen. Jody was feeling the same way.

The blonde disappeared into the kitchen and Jody decided to just lean forward and give Bobby a kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to go see the birthday boy, but I'll be out if you need company."

Bobby looked bemused as Jody headed toward the sound of Dean clearly talking to his son. "Go on, Johnny. Walk to Cas." Jody glanced in at the living area/study and saw the little boy looking up at his father with that look of complete trust that usually only very young children possess. The little boy stretched out his left arm toward the angel, not daring to let go of his father's thumb with his hand. Both of the baby's parental figures were crouched on the floor, one releasing him to the other.

Castiel looked more at ease in the dark blue jeans and white T-shirt than the last time she had seen him in them. He had looked so lost them, and she swore he would have given anything to have had his security blanket, that trenchcoat, back. Now, he looked like any normal dad, a matching set with Dean in his Led Zepplin tee and faded jeans.

The baby took one step, then another, finally too far from Dean to keep his hold on his hand and not yet close enough for him to reach Castiel. The trek was only five or six unaided steps and they got more unsteady toward the end, but it was obvious it wouldn't be long before the man and his angel would be chasing after the boy. Rather than let the child fall, Cas placed his hands at either side of his ribs and pulled him close for a hug.

"Looks like you have two big milestones to celebrate today," Jody said.

Dean looked up at her from his place on the floor and grinned proudly. "Technically, three. His birthday, walking and that whole Fourth of July, Declaration of Independence thing."

"Yeah, you smarta-" She stopped herself from finishing that thought with the small child in the room. She could hear the younger man snickering, and she turned her attention to Johnny and the angel. He was assuring the boy that he had done a very good job and that he was "incredibly proud" in a soft voice that only barely reached Jody's ears. She hoped that whatever woman decided she wanted to put up with Dean was able to accept Cas as part of the package because she was fairly sure that being separated from that boy would break the angel's heart. (She wondered if it wouldn't break it just as much for him to be apart from Dean, but she'd never gotten any indication that either of them necessarily swung in that general direction.)

She glanced in the kitchen for something she could help with. She saw a very sad looking cake that had flecks of dark chocolate cake throughout the very white icing. She dared to glance at the top and was surprised by the startling contrast between the icing job and somewhat lopsided cake and the penmanship of the blue icing on the very top. That was undoubtedly Castiel's work. It was practically calligraphy. The cake she wasn't sure about. She doubted any of them had much more in the way of baking ability beyond heating up a frozen pizza.

"I promise, it tastes better than it looks," Sam said as he carried a tray full of hot dogs and hamburgers out of the kitchen and headed for the front yard.

"Bite me gigantor," Dean snapped. That answered Jody's question about who had made the cake.

"And just in case it doesn't," said a British voice Jody didn't recognize, "we brought pie." She quickly turned at the sound and tried to resist the urge to pull out her gun. Standing at the doorway between the two rooms was a blond man and a man who appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent. Both were good-looking men with fairly different features. Where one was tall, blond and blue-eyed, the other was shorter, dark-haired and dark eyed. They seemed at ease around one another, as though they had been friends for some time. Considering how long angels could be alive, that friendship could be millennia old.

"Who invited you?" Dean said before turning his attention to his son who was trying to walk to him again.

"You can't tell me you were really thinking about leaving us out," the blond man said, sounding exaggeratedly hurt, but not a bit surprised. "Where would little Johnny's birthday be without his Uncle Balthazar and Auntie Metatron?"

The shorter man gave the blond a look that might have smote a weaker man. Jody was going to guess that Metatron identified himself as a he and didn't take to being called "Auntie." Jody tried to recall where she had heard the name before; unlike her ... boyfriend?... she was not as familiar with all of the world's lore, so it was rare when she knew whatever supernatural thing Bobby was involved in without him giving her the Cliffnotes version of the legend.

And then she remembered. "Metatron as in Alan Rickman from Dogma?" Her husband had been a fan of Kevin Smith's movies, from Clerks on through to Jersey Girl (which he'd loved to hate). Jody hadn't seen Dogma in years, but she knew she was right.

"I only wish I had that voice," the man said. "Sadly, he's not in my genetic line." Jody had to admit that though his voice was not as low as the actor's, but Metatron's baritone was soothing enough.

Jody didn't really get to ask more questions as Dean was busy sniffing around the pie boxes in the angels' hands. The complete lack of fear or reverence that the man had for these heavenly creatures astounded Jody. Even though Castiel had made it very clear that he wished to be her friend and was busy playing house as Bobby's son and Johnny's parent, she never really forgot that he was still an angel.

When she stepped outside, she saw a woman dipping chips into quite possibly the largest container of dip that Jody had ever seen. There was something about her that just screamed otherworldly, from the way she glided down the table to grab a container of seafood seasoning to the amount of it she dumped on her single bite of chip and dip. Bobby didn't seem entirely comfortable with the woman, either, but at least he seemed familiar with her.

It was a damned good thing the sheriff was pretty sure she loved the man now putting burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Otherwise, this might be a little too much.

#

"Are you happy with yourself?" Metatron asked as he moved to Balthazar's side. The blond angel was busy watching Dean and Castiel encouraging Johnny to walk between them in the soft grass that Joshua had planted on the front lawn.

"Of course I am," the blond angel said with a put-upon innocent expression. "I'm always happy to see our nephew. Never thought I'd ever get to be a proper uncle, but here I am."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." It was much easier now to be intimidating than when he'd been speaking with the vocal chords of a preteen boy and standing more than half a foot shorter than his fellow angel. Though was shorter than Metatron now that he was back in his original body-5'8" may have once been tall, but he knew it was barely average today-at least he would have had the stature, age and voice of a grown man. "Who helped you alter Dean's dreams? A cupid?"

"I went to our fearless leader for that. He was happy to help." The dark-haired angel and hunter happily congratulated the little boy and stood impossibly close as they showered him with affection. When one or the other wasn't looking, their attention would move from the boy and look at one another in a way that Metatron suspected even they did not realize.

"I am hardly surprised," Metatron said. "He does love messing with Dean." That was an understatement, and they both knew it, but at least Gabriel generally did it in good humor.

"It isn't as though I'm completely altering the flannel wonder's dreams. Just guiding them and making them more coherent."

"Why involve yourself at all?"

"You didn't see Cassie's face when he realized he had the hots for Dean. Most would see it as the opportunity it is, a chance to get laid and maybe even be happy. At the very least, they'd be embarrassed, but he looked like the floor had just dropped out from under him. He was devastated. Maybe back when Michael was still running the show, when actually feeling was a bloody curse, I might understand. Not anymore."

Metatron could hear a surprising level of conviction in Balthazar's voice. It wasn't the place for a heart-to-heart, but he made a mental note to ask his friend about this need to make Castiel happy. He couldn't help but wonder if Balthazar harbored something other than brotherly love-or the angelic equivalent, which Metatron still didn't entirely grasp-for Castiel. Balthazar didn't seem like the tragic figure who would do anything to make the one he cared about happy, even if it meant that person wouldn't be with him. But the angel had surprised Metatron in the past.

"I'm curious. Have you been to see Edna now that you look like your old self?"

Metatron shook his head. "The last time I tried, it was such a disaster, I have to admit that I'm a little afraid to try again."

He had gone to his wife's corner of heaven, and Metatron had tried to explain to her what had happened to him. At first, she hadn't seemed to understand, and maybe she didn't, but she told him that she preferred the memories of her husband as she had known him. It had been too disturbing for her to see a man with his mannerisms and speech, but with a different face. That had been millennia ago. Each time he'd tried to visit her, she asked him not to return—though he always did a century or so later. And with each return, it took her longer and longer to realize it was him. The last time, she never had.

She hadn't wanted a man with his mannerisms, but a stranger's face. Now, after thousands of years as an angel, he feared the opposite would be true. He would look like himself once again, but they would effectively be strangers. While he had evolved beyond the man she saw each day in her heaven, and she had stayed the same, carefully preserved in her never-ending memories of the past.

He wasn't sure how he could face her rejection, and he was even more afraid of his own desire to be with her would not be the same when he was faced with her unchanged after all these years.

Balthazar threw an arm across Metatron's shoulders. "How could she resist a stud like you?"

Metatron offered Balthazar the look that was reserved for only him. It said quite clearly that the blond was Metatron's closest friend, though he often wondered why. Considering that one of his other options was the Angel of Death who was busy digging in to the picnic food, perhaps the why was just rhetorical.

The burger she had created for herself was so large that her overly hooked nose poked into the toasted bun as she attempted to take a bite of the entire sandwich, but it didn't seem to bother her at all. From the looks of it, she had gotten bacon from somewhere, though Metatron hadn't seen any on the table. Like the crock of crab dip from a spot in Maryland, he assumed she'd brought it with her. As Dean passed with his own plate of food, she extended a long-fingered hand delicately holding to a baggie of bacon out to the hunter like it was drug contraband.

"Is that...?" he asked as he took the back. "Thick  _and_  thin cut bacon?"

"I considered adding Canadian as well, but that is hardly real bacon."

"You're awesome," he said with a grin. He took the bag and happily loaded his burger with all of the greasy stuff as he walked over to the blanket where Castiel and Johnny were seated.

"You're getting awfully chummy with Dean," Balthazar said, sounding almost accusatory as he addressed the other angel. Considering the amount of work he had invested in ensuring Dean and Castiel had a chance, that tone was probably justified.

"I like him," Azrael said, simply, and Metatron wasn't sure if that boded well for Dean or not. "He is a kindred spirit."

"Because he likes artery-clogging food?" Metatron asked as he looked up at the tall, lean angel who looked quite happy as she ate her burger.

"Among other things. He has a greater understanding of death and order than other humans, much as he disregards his responsibilities to both."

"Well, you are certainly putting him on the fast track to a heart attack, so death may not be an issue for much longer," Balthazar quipped as he watched Dean giddily eating his meal as he sat on a blanket on the grass. The angel was in the process of feeding the baby some kind of pureed dish, but he paused in his feeding to offer a disapproving look at Dean for his choice in food and then meet Azrael's eyes with the same expression of disapproval for the hunter's enabler.

"Castiel has been clearing his arteries from the time they met. Dean could eat like this until he was ninety quite easily," Azrael said.

Balthazar was eying the cake on the counter. "You can eat all that you want of the greasy stuff. Just leave me a slice of cake." He looked at the deformed, over-iced attempt at a cake on the table. "Well, not _that_  cake, necessarily. I'm not entirely sure we can trust it."

Metatron had more faith in Dean, though he found his judgment clouded when it came to anything sugary. He didn't recall having such a sweet tooth before he'd become an angel, but he had certainly developed an overactive one in the centuries since.

"You can have mine, then," Azrael said. She was probably the lone angel who had tasted sugary sweets not to get an almost cocaine-worthy fix from the stuff. Then again, she was also the only angel to have been wholly unimpressed by Lucifer and Michael, so it was an established fact that she was... odd.

#

Dean had Johnny on his hip as Sam lit the candle on Johnny's birthday cake. He glanced up at Cas to see the angel cocking his head in that inquisitive way of his, obviously baffled once again by strange human traditions. Or that they were doing the tradition despite the fact that Johnny was not really able to blow out a candle or make a wish. He was teething again, so he could probably drool on it to put it out, but Dean was pretty sure that would ruin some people's appetites, though not so much his own. Since becoming a dad, he'd had more slobbery fingers jammed into his mouth than he could count. (Johnny had a fascination with people's mouths, his family members' in particular.) A little drool wouldn't matter much for him.

"Ready, kid?" Dean asked, but got little more than the usual pleased smile from his son. Johnny was happy, but he didn't quite understand all of this. There were lots of people, all showering attention on him, presents, toys, eating on the grass. It had been an odd day for the boy. Though, as Dean leaned closer to the candle, Johnny's attention quickly turned toward it. Dean watched as bright green eyes went wide and the small pink mouth formed a little O as the baby focused on the light from the flame.

Thinking it was probably a good idea to blow out the candle before Johnny's attention turned to trying to grab the candle or the flame, Dean blew it out, making a wish for the boy who wasn't yet old enough to make one for himself.  _Just let him be happy, healthy and safe._

Johnny let out a gasp as the flame turned to smoke, then turned to Dean as though wondering if he'd done it and how. Emma took over cutting the cake Dean had made, happily taking orders as he asked her to make a plate up for Cas.

The angel actually looked like he was taken off guard by that. "What?" Dean asked in response to the look he was getting. "You didn't eat because you were feeding Johnny."

"Dean," Cas said, with a tone a person might use when talking to a slow child, "I do not require-"

"I  _know_ , but you can still enjoy it."

"Cake and pie for you, Dean?" Emma asked, and Dean was torn. There were two pies, and it seemed a waste to fill up space in his stomach for cake when pie was so awesome. But he knew he should take some of the cake, since he was the one who made the thing.

"Sure," he said. "Slice of cake for my boy, too." Sam's girlfriend was cutting into the really lopsided part of the cake, which now only looked flat because it had about triple the icing. "Give that slice to Cas. Lots of icing." She gave him one of those "you're adorable" smiles and did as he asked.

He got a pleased smile from Cas, too, and for just a split second, it brought back memories of the angel when he had been under the influence of Famine. Not long ago, just the memory of that day would have set off an ache in Dean's gut like nothing else, but not now. Famine had lied. Cas had told him as much. The angel had seen something in Dean back when he was still Castiel, warrior of god, and had no reason to do a decent thing for Dean—though arguably, Dean hadn't given him many reasons since—and he'd offered his own grace to make the hunter whole.

There was something, though, hidden behind that look of gratitude. It unsettled Dean, but not in a way he could place. It reminded him too much of the way the version of his friend had looked at him in the dreams he was  _still_  having each night. The thought hurt because it would  _not_  happen. Cas had freaked out just with Dean's head in his lap, and even if he were so inclined, Dean knew he broke too much and hurt too many to add Cas to that list any more than he was already on it.

Johnny babbled something that sounded just enough like "Dadadada" to get Dean's attention. Every time he heard his son make that noise, he looked in hopes that it was directed at him. Sometimes it was, but there was no rhyme or reason to it yet. He'd used the noise for everything from Dean to a teddy bear to a spatula.

There was no denying that this time, his son was looking squarely at him.

"Do you think he really meant that?" Dean asked quietly and slowly as a hush fell over the group around the table.

"It sounded as though he did," Cas said, trying to get Johnny to repeat the noise, but with no luck. The baby did, however, revel in the attention.

"We'll give him a little more time," Dean said as he walked back over to the blanket spread out on the soft grass and said goodbye to Jody and Bobby, who was going with her to get a little alone time with the sheriff. Jody had to monitor the annual fireworks display and the crowds that typically gathered for it, and Bobby figured that he might as well come along.

"We won't have long now before we pile into the Impala and head for the fireworks," Dean said as Cas took a bite of his cake and, thankfully, looked like he enjoyed it. "If your family wants to go, they'll have to fly there. Impala's for Winchester family only, though we can probably make room for Azrael. She's thin enough. And she  _did_  bring bacon."

"Balthazar and Metatron brought pie," Cas reminded him.

"Yeah. I don't want to pi- tick off my suppliers, so I shouldn't play favorites. Just family, then." Dean began setting up Johnny's plate in front of him and trying to show him how to eat the dessert by demonstrating with his own slice. Call him Duncan Hines. It wasn't half bad. "Hope you don't mind squeezing in the back with Johnny and Emma," he said to Cas as he tried to show Johnny how to eat the cake. "Ol' Jolly Green gets grumpy if his legs are cramped."

And there Cas was, looking at Dean with that expression of awe. The hunter just didn't get it. "Dude, is this about the family thing again? You have to know you are after all this time. How many more times do I have to tell you before you actually believe me?"

"At least once more," Cas said with a small smile. "I know what family means to you. To be part of the Winchester family means a great deal."

And Dean could feel this moment getting all chick-flicky-was that even a word? it was now-so he pushed Cas's head away as he sometimes did to his brother. "In the words of Bobby Singer, 'Idgit.'" Dean tried to ignore that part of his brain was cataloging the texture, length and softness of the angel's hair long after his hand had left Cas's head. He realized, though, that he may have insulted the angel by trying to diffuse those loaded words with humor. His eyes met blue, and to the hunter's relief, there was a small smile on Cas's face.

Dean saw Cas's eyes going down to Johnny's slice of cake and the baby's inquisitive stare—head tilt included; that was apparently a permanent fixture thanks to their angel-baby bonding time, not that Dean minded.

"Why did you give him cake? He is too small to actually eat it."

"Yeah, but not too small to make a mess of it. It's what kids are supposed to do on their first birthdays."

_"But Sammy's too small to eat it," Dean said as he looked at the little cake from the grocery store bakery._

_"It's not about the eating it. It's about having it for his first birthday," John told him with a ruffle of his blondish hair._

_"He'll make a mess," Dean pointed out as he looked up at his baby brother in the cart._

_"And we'll take a picture of it. That's the point."_

_Dean shoved his hands in the pockets of his second-hand Osh-Kosh overalls. It still didn't make sense to him, but his dad didn't look sad, and that was something, right?_

_"It was a tradition for your mom's family," John said, and he stopped the cart in the milk aisle to get his wallet out of his back pocket. "I found this when I was... going through a few of the old photos." Dean remembered that. His dad had cried. A lot._

_Dean was kinda surprised his dad was even talking about her. But that speech teacher or whatever she was had told John that Dean might be a little less silent if they talked about his mom once in a while. She'd been a "quack," talking about some people named Foster who could take Dean and Sammy in while John "got himself together." Dean didn't have to go back after that._

_But Dean had gotten to look at the photos, at least. There hadn't been much talking, mostly John holding Dean as they both cried, all the while Sammy slept in the motel-provided crib._

_John pulled a picture from his wallet and showed it to Dean. "We did it with you, though your mom made the cake." Instinctively, Dean's face twisted at the thought, not of the pain of his mother's loss but at the memory of her cakes. John managed the smallest of smiles at that. It wasn't much, but it was something, at least. Sometimes, Dean had trouble remembering what his dad even looked like when he smiled._

" _Yeah," John said, "your mom wasn't so good with cake."_

" _But she made awesome pie," Dean said. He didn't know if he was trying to defend her or just remembering his favorite food. It didn't matter. His dad got this wistful look on his face and said that, yeah, she did. But he still didn't look like talking about her was hurting him, like he did most of the time._

_Dean figured he'd label this a "good day" for them both._

_The five-year-old took the picture from his dad with great care. There was so little left of their life before home became the Impala or the hotels where they stayed each night, and he knew how precious each remaining piece was. What he saw was himself, covered head to toe in cake and grinning up at the woman standing next to him. Though her head was cut off, Dean knew it was his mother._

_That night, Sammy turned out to be a really delicate cake eater, and he only dipped some fingers in the icing and barely even tasted it. "That doesn't make for a good picture, Sammy," Dean said. He'd been so determined to get a good memory, another happy photo for his dad. So, the five-year-old jammed his hand in the cake, pulled up a nice wad of the stuff, and before John could stop him, smashed the cake into his baby brother's face. Sammy immediately cried, Dean looked sheepish, but John still took the photo. Dean couldn't be sure, but he thought his dad might have even laughed._

If it was still around, the picture of them was probably somewhere in the Impala, maybe in Bobby's attic. He'd have to look for it later.

"Sammy," he said, mind still back decades ago and still thinking of his little brother rather than the gigantor making googly eyes at his girlfriend, "get a photo of this. It's a family tradition that the birthday boy makes a mess of his birthday cake." His brother walked over with his phone in hand. "And if the birthday boy is a delicate little flower who won't make a mess, then sometimes family has to help."

Sam looked at him strangely, which meant Dean had never told him this story before. At least this time it was a happy memory that the older brother would be relaying as soon as the photo was done. "Get a picture of Cas, too. I don't think he's thrilled with the idea of a messy baby, and I'd like to get his constipated face just for posterity's sake."

The sour face only intensified in Dean's direction, but the man only laughed.

#

Once upon a time, Castiel would have pointed out that fireworks were the wasteful use of chemicals sent rocketing into the sky by gunpowder, that they could be dangerous, that their lights and color came from the various chemical compositions. Today, as he watched Dean look up at the night sky and occasionally down at his son as he sat on his father's lap while Dean was seated comfortably on the hood of his precious Impala, he knew he couldn't. It had been on the tip of his tongue to point out that the blue and green lights above were the result of copper and barium, respectively, but the hunter looked years younger as the night sky lit up above them. The words died on the angel's tongue.

At first, Johnny didn't seem to know what to do with the fireworks, as they filled the air with the stench of sulfur and spent black powder and made noises so loud that despite the earplugs Dean had fitted snugly in the boy's ears, Castiel knew the boy couldn't help but feel rattling through his chest following each loud crack and bang. At first, he had looked to Dean and Castiel for reassurances that these noisy, bright, smelly things were safe, and both had offered smiles and comforting touches to show him that they were. They had sat through a few of the rockets, parked near but not at, the location of the display itself. Johnny was obviously more confident that these things were safe, though Dean's arm remained firmly around his waist and Castiel's finger was still gripped tightly by the boy's right hand.

Sam and Emma were seated in the grass in front of them, occasionally taking their eyes off of the display and one another to glance back at the little boy and offer a smile at the sight. The smaller woman was seated between Sam's legs with her back against his chest and he rested his cheek atop the crown of her head. Castiel found himself wondering if the hunter had been this way with Jess as well.

Metatron and Balthzar were off to the side, both settled on the grass, looking up at the sky. Dean had made them move further away after the first few fireworks, when it became clear they were going to talk through the whole show. While Castiel had been able to refrain himself from commentary on the chemistry of firework-making, they were not. Azrael had not come along, which was probably for the best, since Castiel wasn't entirely sure how she would have fit in with their group. It was quite possible she would have given statistics for the number of pyrotechnic display-related deaths each year.

"Watch this," Balthzar said to Metatron, lifting his hands to the sky as a new firework shot heavenward. Castiel didn't know what his brother was going to do, but it was obvious he was going to show off. The firework lit up with a brilliant blue-white light and took the shape of an angel.

"Great, now all of Sioux Falls is going to think that was an apparition and turn this place into a pilgrimage spot," Metatron retorted, obviously unimpressed with Balthazar's show. The blond angel began to argue. "People think they see Jesus on toast and mildew stains. You made a thousand foot angel."

However, the rest of their bickering was cut off by the sound of a loud squeal from Johnny followed by babbling that sounded vaguely like Tatatatata. It had the same a sound as when he may or may not have said dada earlier that day, except with a T in place of the D. The baby was shaking Castiel's finger vigorously and trying to get his attention.

Once he had it, it was clear to the angel that Johnny was very looking between him and the firework.

Dean laughed loudly, and when he spoke, he sounded unbelievably proud of his son. "Screw Independence day. We've got two major milestones in one day," he said, looking down at his son, who was still looking up at Castiel with a grin. "No denying that one was a word."

Castiel would, actually, argue that "Tata" was not technically a word. Except that he realized it was  _his_  word. A hard C or K should would naturally be difficult for a child of Johnny's age, even though Castiel had been trying to work on the boy's verbal skills for the last two months, with a little angelic help, to compensate for how he had been deprived by his mother. They couldn't be sure that Johnny had tried to say Dada earlier, and they hadn't been able to replicate it.

"Who's this? Is this Tata?" Dean asked, poking Castiel in the shoulder. Both Sam and Emma had their attention focused on the boy, and in the distance, Balthazar and Metatron were watching with knowing and understanding smiles, respectively.

"Tata!" Johnny said, resting his head against the angel's arm for a snuggle.

"And who is this?" Castiel asked, pointing to Dean. Johnny looked at him, confused. It was as though he knew there was a word for this man, but he was unsure what it was. "Dada?" Castiel tried. Johnny didn't repeat it, but he buried his face into Dean's chest even as more fireworks set the sky aglow. He recognized the name belonged to Dean, and that was something.

Dean leaned down to kiss the top of his boy's head. When he rose back up and Johnny's attention was back on the purple lights skittering across the now-smoky sky, Castiel noticed tears in the man's eyes. "I am sorry that you were not his first word," Castiel said.

"Dude, these are not tears because I'm upset. I'm just damned proud of him. He's walking and now talking, and I'm just happy. It's the same reason you've got them in your eyes."

And Dean was right. He did.


	37. Cashing in Favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam get a phone call from Missouri, who insists on a little family road trip.

_"Here's something to think about: How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?" Jay Leno_

"A town of psychics?" Dean asked as he buckled Johnny into his carseat.

"That's what she said," Sam said, tossing his duffel into the Impala's trunk. "It's apparently a big festival, or something."

"A  _whole_  town of psychics?"

"You keep repeating the question," Cas noted almost studiously, "as though you expect the answer to change."

"A bunch of charlatans trying to mooch poor, innocent idiots out of their money, milking their grief-"

"I would get that all out of your system before we reach Missouri. She'll have your hide," Sam said.

"She'll have it anyway. That woman hates me," Dean said, and Sam wondered if his older brother realized just how much he sounded like a petulent child. Really, Sam couldn't blame him, since the last time they had been around Missouri, it had involved a lot of bad memories for Dean. Not to mention the fact that the woman had been quick to snark at him, even tease him with a level of familiarity that he obviously wasn't used to from someone he didn't know well. Sam also knew his brother wasn't very thrilled with the idea that if they were the genuine article, like Missouri, they would be able to see into his head. It bothered him enough that Cas could do it, and Cas was Dean's closest friend.

Or whatever the hell he was. That whole relationship had been getting fuzzier and fuzzier before Sam's eyes. It made him unbelievably grateful that his own was going well and had not had the added complications of making him question his sexuality or the possibility of risking his only friendship. (Because, yeah, Cas was just about his only friend in the world, too, so he could at least sympathize with his brother on that front.)

"You know what's sad? Last year, I might have enjoyed going to this stupid thing," Dean said. "Because at least we'd have been close to the Biggerson's central office and the country's biggest Biggerson's." If Dean had sounded a bit like he'd been pouting earlier, he was full-on pouting now. He had been since he'd heard that Biggerson's was closing its doors. Not only had the place gone bankrupt, but a salmonella outbreak nationwide had been the death knell for the chain. Despite the fact that Dean, himself, got sick from the stuff and might have died had it not been for Cas's constant presence last year, he still groused each time the restaurant came up, or whenever he saw Richard Roman on TV. Roman had had the opportunity to save Biggerson's, but the salmonella outbreak seemed to have clinched it for him that he and his company would not be buying.

"We'll find you a Big Boy's or Denny's along the way," Sam said.

"It's not the same." Dean was regressing into a two-year-old before Sam's eyes. All because of a mediocre restaurant chain.

In fact, the whole reason they were going this year instead of last was because Biggerson's had imploded on itself. Apparently, Lily Vale was incredibly close, geographically, to all of these Biggerson's landmarks and it had gone belly up right around the time of the town's annual festival. It had seemed inappropriate, or so Missouri relayed to Sam, to have the psychic festival when the surrounding area was suffering so much. She'd then added, "Really, they just realized most of their audience was hitting the unemployment line and wouldn't be able to afford any psychic readings."

"How exactly did they hear about Missouri?" Dean asked as he made a face at the boy in the back of the Impala through the glass of the back window. Sam could hear Johnny laughing through Cas's open door.

"The Supernatural books, apparently. Lucky us, this town already has a few true believers in the Winchester gospel."

"Well, yippee frickin' skippy," Dean muttered as he opened the door to the car. "And Missouri was  _sure_  it would be safe to bring Johnny along?"

"She said she was positive he'd be safe."

"He'd better be, or I'll have her hide instead," Dean said. He sounded a bit like Yosemite Sam as he climbed into the car, muttering words that were vaguely close to swearing, but not quite, all for the sake of his son's ears.

Cas climbed into the back of the car. It didn't seem as though the angel was so uncomfortable about the idea of riding in the car as long as it was for Johnny's sake. Apparently, the Impala wasn't so claustrophobic when he was going to be entertaining the baby.

Sam had the last of his things in the car and had sent a text to Emma, who was back home in Minnesota, to let her know where he was going.

"Off to Psychicville, U.S.A. with Dean Winchester and an angel," he'd written. "Pray for me."

#

One thing was for certain: Dean couldn't drive the 16-hour trip in one day with a one-year-old in the back of the car. Johnny needed to move around and play. They had made several pitstops along the way, and arrived in Lily Dale, New York the following night. Johnny seemed to have no trouble adjusting to hotel rooms, and though it was obvious that he got fidgetty being in the car for so long, he was still amazingly well behaved. Once again, Dean was reminded that he had a damned good kid.

Dean was almost grateful when he saw the bed and breakfast where Missouri was staying. He couldn't care that it looked pink and girly on the inside, or that he was in a town full of people who could read his mind, or even that he was pretty sure Missouri didn't like him and would make his time here miserable. He was at a stopping point where Johnny would be free to roam and where tomorrow wasn't going to be filled with another day of driving.

The woman who ran the B&B greeted them at the front door. "You must be Dean, Castiel, Sam and Johnny," she said, holding the door open for them. She was an odd mix of sweet, grandmotherly type and savvy business woman. "I have some sandwiches in the refrigerator. Feel free to help yourself. I'm sure you've had a long day. Missouri and I were just having tea in the dining room." She smiled. "She's a lovely woman, and so  _fascinating_."

Dean followed her to their rooms. Apparently, Sam was to bunk with Missouri on a pair of extra long twin beds, which was just fine by Dean, and Dean, Cas and Johnny had the room next door. Dean opened the door to see a single queen and a crib already waiting on them.

There's no knowing smile from this woman—an improvement over the hotel they'd stayed in the night before, when the guy at the counter had done the math that two of the men  _had_  to be sharing a bed—and there was no judgment. Dean was too bone-tired to really care if there had been. They'd have just packed up and moved on the following night.

She didn't even give them a pissy look about their duffel bags. The guy last night had been really snooty about their lack of proper luggage. There was a reason Dean and Sam didn't typically stay in nice places. But baby-proofing most of the dives they'd have normally picked in that town would have been impossible. They should have called up Andrea and asked to crash at her place for the night. It was definitely an idea Dean was keeping tucked away for the ride back.

"Well," Dean said as he took Johnny from Cas and took small comfort in the tight hug he got from the boy, "let's get this over with."

"Why are you so willing to do a favor for a woman who you say very clearly dislikes you?" Cas asked.

"Because she did one for us, and she helped Dad, too. That and there's something about the woman that feels like family." Dean shrugged. "Let's just go and face the music."

"I don't hear any... Ah, never mind."

"Catching on there, angel cake," Dean said, walking out the door of the bedroom. He winced at what he had just called his friend, then scowled as he saw his brother standing in the opposite doorway snickering. Sam put his hands up as to say he wasn't going to make a single comment about what Dean had just said. He must have realized that would result in certain death; he always was the smart one.

Dean didn't even bother to glance back at Cas and his, likely, confused expression.

As soon as Dean made his way to the diningroom, where the owner was setting a tray of sandwiches on the table, he saw Missouri drinking a cup of tea. "About time you got here," she said, and she was all smiles. "And this must be little Johnny." She stood and walked over to Dean and his son.

"Hello, Missouri," Dean managed.

"I don't hate you, you know," she said, tracing her finger over Johnny's hand. "You're just a bit of a handful, but I like you just as much as I like Sam."

_Yeah right._

"Don't you doubt me, boy," she said, pointing a finger up into Dean's face. "Have some sandwiches and let your boy play a bit. I'll keep an eye on him." Dean wanted to argue, just for the sake of arguing, except his stomach chose that moment to let out a loud roar. He let Johnny get used to Missouri first, then tried handing his son off to her. Johnny would have none of that. "He must be picking up on your tension around me."

_No idea why he'd think I was tense_. Once again, Dean found himself being glared at. Just great that he couldn't even manage to complain in his own mind.

Almost as soon as Castiel walked into the room, the psychic's expression turned to one of awe. "You have to be Castiel." She shook her head. "We're going to have to do something about you. I had no idea how obvious it would be that you aren't human."

Still, she extended her hand to the angel, who took it in return. "It's very nice to meet you," he said, but his tone was reserved. It was as though he was being reproachful because Missouri had the ability to make Dean so uncomfortable.

"I never thought that I'd get to meet an angel, but these boys can certainly use the help of one." Her other hand gave Castiel's a pat and she guided him to the dining table.

Dean had a seat at the table, giving Johnny enough room to snuggle against his chest. The boy seemed to just want the closeness. Dean would have thought he'd be toddling around on the floor now, but he just seemed to want his dad. Dean was man enough to acknowledge that made him feel pretty awesome.

"So what are we dealing with?" Dean asked.

"Something's killed two of the headlining acts for the festival. Gave them premonitions about their deaths, and then they happened."

"Aren't you a headlining act?" Sam asked, taking a sandwich from the tray.

"Exactly why I want you to catch this thing before it gets to me," Missouri said, sitting back down in front of her tea cup.

"But you knew you'd need us here months ago. Back when I talked to you at Andrea's place."

"I knew I'd need you," Missouri said. "I didn't know  _why._  It's pretty rare I get a premonition, but I knew we'd be together right about now, and since this was where I was going to be, I knew this was where you were going to be."

"So how many headliners could get picked off," Dean said. "No offense." He chomped into a roast beef and cheddar sandwich that was almost good enough to make up for the lack of Biggerson's.

"Smart aleck," she said. "They're really trying to make this festival a big one. They want to make up for missing out on their annual festivities last year, so more names, more people from out of the area, and bigger and better events. They're trying to tie it in as some 125th anniversary of some kind, though it seems like a stretch, since Lily Dale has been here longer than that, and the Fox sisters, who founded the place, were around before that, too." She shook her head disapprovingly. "Though a lot of the people in this town are genuinely nice people, and of those, a handful really have the gift, the mayor and counsel know where their bread is buttered. Psychics are the money for this town, and they keep the cash flowing."

"But you came here anyway," Cas asked with a slight tilt of his head.

"I might try to use my gift for good purposes, but sometimes, Castiel, you just have to eat."

As they all began talking strategies and eating—including Johnny in the latter—Missouri disappeared momentarily to the room she would be sharing with Sam. When she returned, she was holding a silver amulet on a black leather cord out to Castiel. "I came across this in one of the gift shops in town and knew it was more than a little special. I think it's for you."

Cas took the amulet into his palm. "It is a hand of fatima," he said. "A symbol of protection, but there is more to it than that." Dean watched as the angel turned it over in his hand. The moment he saw whatever was on the back, Cas's expression became one of awe and of sadness. Dean hadn't decided yet if he was grateful that Missouri had found it for the angel or angry that it had upset him. "This was Zadkiel's."

Sam wanted to geek out at that, it was clear from the look on his face, but he must have seen something in the way Cas looked just then that made him stop and wait for their friend to speak. "She was the angel of mercy and of freedom. She certainly lived up to that name. She had been trying to reach out to demons, to 'spark the good that must have once resided there.'" Dean noticed that Johnny had gone still in his arms and was watching the angel curiously. He couldn't tell if the boy was tuning in to Cas's sadness or merely caught up in what sounded a little like a bedtime story, if not a particularly happy one. "I do not know what she found with the demons, but she did find there was no tolerence for her beliefs in heaven. Zadkiel vanished after that, but heaven didn't want to lose one more of its archangels, even one of the lower ranking ones, not after Lucifer had been thrown out and Gabriel had disappeared. Zadkiel must have used this to remain hidden."

"So what does it do?" Sam asked.

"It dampens an angel's Grace. It doesn't wipe it out completely, but would render them more human and less prone to detection."

Dean wasn't sure he liked that. He remembered what Cas had been when his Grace had been frittering away, and what he could become if allowed to sink fully into humanity, but what he didn't understand was Cas's sadness at the amulet.

"If it has come into human possession... then I can only assume that Zadkiel is dead." And there the pieces fell into place. Dean wondered when the loss of an angel would be one too many for his friend. It was easy for the hunter to sometimes discount how strongly Cas could feel about his family, partly because it was so huge and partly because Dean still thought that they were dicks with wings-present company usually excluded. However, he knew that Cas still loved them all.

Missouri placed her hand on Cas's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I don't know how much angels can read energy, but I didn't feel any death associated with that amulet. I sense joy and love, as well as some fear and longing, but no death."

Then, the angel looked up at Dean as though to confirm that Missouri was good enough to know that. For all their differences and how much the woman liked to get under his skin, he could at least vouch for her there. "If she doesn't sense anything bad, I'd believe it. She could tell that our mom was still in our old house and the evil that Yellow Eyes had left behind. I don't think she could miss the death of an angel."

Cas nodded and looked hopeful, just because Dean said he should be. Sometimes the hunter wondered what it was he'd done to find someone who gave him such explicit trust. He watched as Cas pulled the leather cord over his head. "This feels very familiar."

"At least this time you don't have a bug bite," Dean said, getting a smile for the reminder.

"Indeed. Those are incredibly obnoxious."

"Tata?" Johnny said, sounding just a bit like he was asking a question. He'd been cautiously watching the angel for some time, and Dean was surprised it had taken him this long to speak up. Cas offered a smile to reassure the boy that he was OK.

"You didn't tell me he was talking," Missouri said.

"Just a couple words. Ta or Tata for Cas, Dada for me," Dean had just about popped a shirt button when Johnny had said that. "We think he might be calling Sam 'Me,' but he'd not really consistent about it yet." And Sam was totally encouraging that, too. He was spoiling Johnny rotten trying to get the kid to give him a name. Bobby wasn't pushing it and said that the baby would figure out what he wanted to call him when he was ready, not that it was stopping Bobby from doting on Johnny like crazy.

"He's a smart little one. And I suspect he's had a little help with his development. Not all children have an angel as a father."

"Dean's his-" Cas began, but Missouri cut him off as quickly as she usually did Dean.

"Don't give me that," she said. "You know that boy is crazy about you and that you are as much his dad as Dean."

"Been telling him that for months now. He won't listen," Dean told the woman.

And for a while, the talk turned to more pleasant topics than dead psychics getting visions of their murders. Though he might be closed off about himself, Dean was always ready and able to talk for hours on end when it came to his son.

#

Dean may not have been a psychic, but he got the message that Missouri wanted to speak with him and sent his brother, son and angel back to their rooms and lingered at the table with Missouri. "Fatherhood suits you," she said with a smile. It didn't put him at ease, and she didn't really expect it to. Dean had had issues with her poking in his head before hell and Castiel, now he was doing his darnedest to put up a big brick wall she couldn't see through. It didn't work, but she noticed the effort all the same.

"I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't hate you," she said. "Never have. You frustrate me to no end and make me worry like a mother hen, but I don't hate you. And as much as you're going to hate to hear me say this, I always felt a little sorry for you, not for the reasons anyone else could see, your mom, the pressure your dad put on you, how much of Sam's troubles you bear on your own shoulders." He was getting ready to lash out, and she knew she would have to finish her thought quickly. "But I want to hurt your father for leaving you to place such a low value of your own worth."

"I don't know who you think you are to go talking about my self-worth, or my worth at all. I don't like people poking around in my head, and if you've been in there, you should have known that-"

"I know it. Why do you think I was so hard on you the first time we met? You were like a wild animal ready to run off or attack the first moment you might think I got a glimpse inside that noggin of yours. So I let you think that I only saw that front you put up for everyone else."

"You couldn't have done me the favor of pretending again?" Dean asked.

"No," she said in a tone that brokered no argument. "Not when your insecurity is liable to mess up something really good." And there was that skittish animal back again. Dean's eyes were wide and he looked five seconds away from running off, because apparently having Missouri know  _that_  was worse than her knowing about hell. "You're already a family. He'll already do anything for you. You die, he'll die, whether or not you're in a relationship or not, Dean."

"I've never asked him to do that."

"No. Sam's never asked you to make a crossroads deal for his life, Bobby never expected you to hand over years of your life in a deal with a warlock on his account, and Castiel never asked you to to stand up to him all the while he was proclaiming himself God, just in the hope that the Cas you know would come back. You and your family, you do the craziest things out of love. Your dad, you, Sam, Bobby, even your angel. He's part of your brood now, and there's no changing that, even if you don't want him doing something stupid on your account."

Dean didn't look any more comforted by those words, but he didn't look quite so close to fight or flight. It was something, at least.

"You make him happy, you know. And he has so much faith in you. I know you saw it when I told him about the amulet. Just a word from you is enough to give that angel reason to hope, and that's saying a lot about an angel who lost faith in God."

"Which was all my fault."

"May He strike me down if he wants, but no, it wasn't. It was God's fault. He left this world's clock to wind down without so much as a command to anyone." She took a step toward him and considered placing a hand on his arm, but she knew better. She'd gotten him off the ledge, but only so far. "I don't expect you to go in and proclaim undying love for him just because I say so, but will you at least think about what I've said?"

She got nothing in reply, but he'd listened, and that was something in and of itself.

#

Dean had a lot to think about that night, and he realized it wasn't going to be easy when he saw Cas sound asleep in the rose-colored wingchair next to Johnny's crib. Apparently diminished Grace also meant sleep, and Cas didn't look entirely comfortable. At least he'd changed into those cotton pants the angel seemed to like, whether or not he'd taken up yoga. Dean wasn't left with the question of whether he should leave Cas in his clothes or change him into pajamas. Those were probably comfortable enough. Dean stripped down to his boxers and a T-shirt, then threw on a pair of pajama pants all while Cas slept on.

He found it odd that the angel snored a little. It wasn't loud, not the freight train that Dean knew he could be when he had a nasty cold, just a faint hiss then hum that he could hear on the other side of the room.

Dean was in the process of tossing the eight dozen throw pillows off the bed as he watched Cas try to twist himself into a comfortable position on the chair. There was no way he could leave his friend there, and he knew that taking the amulet off sort of defeated the purpose of remaining incognito in the town. But Dean really wasn't going to like where this was going.

He chucked the last of the pillows before realizing there might have been a particular way they were supposed to go and trying desperately to remember if there had been anything special about their organization. Most of the weapons were out in the Impala, but not all, and he didn't want an improperly made bed to act as an invitation for the owner to come in and do some housecleaning. She wouldn't like what she found.

There was no way he was going to remember, and he'd just have to wing it. Or rely on Cas's better memory to get it right.

He pulled down the covers on the bed and stared at the queen that suddenly looked way too small. He looked again at Cas, who had managed to wedge himself in the chair like that army man stuck in the Impala's ashtray. Dean sighed and walked over to the sleeping angel and cursed Missouri, Zadkiel-or whatever her name was-and that damned amulet. And Cas and himself for good measure.

He had no idea if this was going to work, since Cas was such an immovable object whenever Dean tried to hit him all angel-juiced up, but the hunter though he might as well give it a go. He hooked one arm beneath the angel's knees and another at his shoulders and lifted. He almost sent them both tumbling backwards because he had put a little too much effort into the act. Jimmy had been one wirey little bugger.

Cas didn't wake, thank God, because getting caught carrying him bridal style was a level of awkward that Dean just wasn't ready to deal with right now, not after his conversation with Missouri. Tomorrow morning would be bad enough if he didn't get out of the bed before Cas started to rally. He lowered his friend's form onto the bed, firmly on "his" side, then moved to the other side to climb in with him. Dean went to sleep with the chant of "Don't roll over, stay on your side" on his lips, but he knew what morning would bring.


	38. Seeing Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't maybe as blind as everyone thinks.

" _We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up in the morning."_

_Henry Ward Beecher, American abolitionist_

Metatron had done his good deed for the week, placing Zadekiel's amulet in Missouri's path, and he had even remained close to be sure its effect on Castiel was not harmful. He had nothing especially pressing to do at the moment, which meant he had no good reasons to keep putting this off.

He closed his eyes and focused on his wife's soul. Almost instantly, he found himself pulled to her heaven. When he opened his eyes, he watched as a version of himself, only 20, walked out of their home and said goodbye to his wife and children. He remembered this, far more vaguely than he would have liked, far better than he would have as a human who had existed for the thousands of years he had.

He had been meeting with the tribal leaders, and when he got back, he found his wife had made him a delicious dinner with the help of their eldest daughter, who was five-when old age was 40, you had your children young.

He entered his home and watched as Methuselah and Nissa, only three and two, rolled a ball between them. Ruth was seated at the table, adding herbs to the meal they were making for Enoch's arrival home.

The home was familiar to him, as were the children who ignored his presence. He watched his wife, younger than he left her, older than she'd been at the time she'd made this special meal for him, as she moved about the kitchen and instructed Ruth on the finer points of cooking. She was still remarkably beautiful to him. Her pale brown eyes glimmered as she talked about cooking, about her husband, her children. She wore a smile that Metatron just wanted to bask in for a few hours. He could stay hidden here, watching her, watching her memories of their family, pieces he never got to see.

But watching only hurt, only reminded him that in life he had been a deeply devout man, and as such, he had often neglected his duties at home. Though he was not  _the_  Righteous Man-and he didn't envy Dean for being stuck with that label-he had been considered  _a_  righteous man, a scribe, a leader in the tribe. He did not consider himself a poor father or husband, but he did believe he could have been a better one.

Long, dark hair that he remembered glowing red when the sun hit it just right was braided down Edna's back and olive-skinned fingers gently kneaded the dough. Metatron had to wonder what it would be like for her, when she got to move out to the new heaven, the place where souls could freely mingle among friends, relatives, perfect strangers, people who died thousands of years before or after them. Would she even want to go? He could only imagine how terrified she would be of cars, how in awe of other technology she would be. He longed to show her food from around the world and find since-passed chefs to teach her, and for her to teach in return. He wanted to show her their children's heavens and the enormous role she plays in them. He wanted her to get to really see them again; all their children were such remarkable men and women that there had been no hesitation on their part when it came to accepting that their father was now Metatron. He visited them just often enough to dull the ache of being away form his family.

"Edna," he finally spoke. She looked up at him and frowned. He knew he looked like the man who had just walked out that door, but he was also well aware that his body was well more than a decade older than the Enoch who had left the house moments ago. She seemed to recognize him, but knew that he was out of place here.

"Enoch?" she asked slowly, leaving their children playing, Ruth mixing herbs. He raised his hand and froze the scene.

"It's me. Just... improved, I suppose." He stepped forward and took her hands in his. "God had a plan for me, Edna, when he took me away from you. He-"

"Made you an angel," she said, nodding. She looked as though recalling something that had since gone foggy. "I remember your visits before. But you never looked like yourself." He rubbed calloused thumbs over her own work-roughened palms.

"God wanted me to experience being an angel completely, and that included having no body of my own. But God has changed. Heaven has changed. We can walk among others who have passed, visit our children. I can show you a world of things that have changed on earth. You wouldn't believe half of it."

"And you could stay here," she said, obviously more comfortable with that idea.

"Of course," he said. "I have duties, but of course I can come back here. I must introduce you to Balthzar. He made all of this possible." She offered a small smile, and it was more than he'd gotten in response from Edna over centuries. "He isn't what you would expect, not for an angel. We've gotten a lot of things wrong about them, but he is quite possibly my best friend here. He has been for... at least a century."

"For 100 years?" she asked slowly, as though trying to wrap her mind around the idea. "How long have you been an angel?"

"Time passes differently in heaven than on earth," Metatron said, now fearing what his wife's reaction would be to the reality of how long she had been stuck stagnant while he learned and experienced new things.

"Yes, but in earth time, how long? How many years have passed on earth since you were taken, and I... died." She still seemed to have difficulty accepting that. She had each time he visited her and always was eager to return to a heaven built solely on her memories of life. He was reluctant to answer. "Hundreds of years? … Thousands?"

"More than six thousand," he answered. She stared at him in shock for a few moments, and he waited for the weight of that number to finally sink in.

"Then... I suppose we have a great deal to catch up on." And for the first time in those six thousand years, Metatron had hope; he didn't know if he would get his wife back or just find closure, but either would be welcome.

#

Castiel had only limited experience with sleep, but he did vaguely recall curling up in the back of the Impala years before, and he had felt incredibly vulnerable at the the time. If he was being completely honest, the only thing that had given him some rest was the presence of his friends at the time.

He remembered feeling rejuvinated upon waking, but it had not felt the way this did now. He was warm and comfortable. Castiel's arm was draped across someone's waist with his head buried beneath the man's chin, nose brushing against his bed partner's collarbone. The man, who Castiel's slowly waking mind supplied must be Dean—based on logic and because the angel's brain was finally capable of understanding that this person  _smelled_  like Dean—had his hand resting on the angel's hip and one leg thrown over Castiel's right leg, which was firmly sandwiched between Dean's. Waking up like this was certainly better than when he had a crick in his neck from the odd angle he was forced to sleep in in the back seat of a car.

It was much less awkward than when Dean would wrap an arm around him in his sleep while the angel was still very much awake. This time, there was an excuse for why he let it happen, for why he could hold Dean right back.

When the door creaked open, Castiel tensed, worried that Dean would wake or that it would be Sam there to take more pictures and tease his brother about once again cuddling with the angel. Instead, it was Missouri, who walked over to Johnny's crib to check on the still-sleeping baby and then stopped to spare a glance at the bed. She caught his eye and she smiled. A single finger was raised to her lips, a promise that she would remain quiet, and she kept to it. Though she softly rubbed the angel's arm, she didn't say anything else before slipping back out of the room.

He wondered if that was what human mothers were like, with gentle touches and quiet understanding. Not all, he imagined, and not just because he knew there were bad ones like Johnny's mother, but because personalities were different. Still, he suspected that when Dean described his mother tucking him in at night with the promise that angels were watching over the boy, it had felt something like the way Missouri had treated them last night and this morning.

The angel burrowed his face beneath Dean's chin and against his neck. It was only a matter of time now before Dean would be waking up, if for no other reason than the smell of bacon cooking in the kitchen was certain to rally him, and the angel wasn't sure whether he should pretend he was still asleep or not. He didn't know what the protocol was for waking up in bed, cuddling with one's best friend. He knew that his body certainly wasn't complaining as it took in the welcome weight of Dean's leg, his scent, the feel of his hand at Castiel's hip. The angel didn't want to move away from the soft cotton of the well-worn T-shirt against his cheek, but he did, at least, try to move his hips back before it became too obvious just how much he was enjoying this closeness. The angel was still learning about human interaction, but he was relatively sure that having arousal poking into the hip of one's friend was not a good thing. He might have even considered leaving the bed all together, except he knew he'd fallen asleep in the chair by the crib, so Dean had made the decision that they could share the bed.

Though the angel couldn't see Dean's face from his position and the necklace was dimming his ability to sense the man, he knew the instant that the hunter woke up. Muscles tensed and Castiel knew it would be just a matter of minutes before the man pulled away, probably as quickly as he could. This was too nice, and too likely to be their sleeping arrangement until the killer was caught, to let this get awkward, so the angel slowly shifted back, scratched his chest and yawned. He'd seen Dean do this a number of times. He just hoped he managed to imitate it correctly.

"Um... Morning," Dean said.

The angel followed through with the yawn, surprised at how satisfying the involuntary human reaction could be. "Good morning. Thank you for moving me from the chair. I did not realize that I would fall asleep wearing the amulet. " Dean looked a little flushed, likely from the very embarrassment that Castiel was trying to diffuse. "No offense intended toward the Impala, but this was considerably more satisfying than falling asleep in the back seat."

"Well, you did have your head at a weird angle a couple of times then," Dean said. "And don't worry about it. You weren't hard to move." Dean had shifted over to his side of the bed and Castiel to his, but the angel thought it was some sort of miracle that the man hadn't left entirely. "How do you feel?"

Castiel paused, thinking intently as to how to answer that question appropriately, particularly with Dean's attention so focused on him. It was a loaded question, he knew. He had to answer it carefully. "Almost human," the angel finally said after a moment of thought. "And hungry."

"No aches or pains or anything like that?" Dean asked and Castiel was sure that question also meant more than it seemed to at face value. But he remembered some brief mention of the future that Dean had seen. The hunter still didn't talk about it, but it was evident he still worried that Castiel would become that shell of himself, addicted to medication and alcohol if he didn't have his Grace to support him.

He shook his head. "I feel a little heavier, a little more aware of this body than usual, but you have no reason to be concerned. I have no desire to consume opiates of any sort."

Dean rolled his eyes, but looked relieved all the same. "Don't bother beating around the bush or anything, Cas."

"You were hardly subtle, yourself," the angel retorted with a smirk.

"Since you're hungry and I smell bacon, maybe we should grab breakfast?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea."

#

Seeing his brother and Cas walking out of their bedroom looking rumpled and still clad in pajamas was strange. Sam had been told by Missouri upon threats to his life that he was to let them be. Neither of them looked like they'd had sex, though the hunter couldn't say that he knew what Cas's morning-after-sex face would look like, probably adoration if his partner was Dean. Dean's morning after face, though, Sam had seen, in every variation, more times than he could count. He wasn't wearing it at the moment.

"Morning," Sam said, taking a scoop full of scrambled eggs from the table. "Johnny still sleeping?"

Dean nodded. "Door's open, though, so we can hear him." As soon as he got to the table, he started loading up both his own and Cas's plate. While Dean stuck to his own greatest hits, he was putting a little of everything on the angel's dish. They were foods that Sam was relatively sure his brother wouldn't normally touch, but he was all about giving Cas a good sampling.

"There is a limit to how much I am physically capable of eating," Cas said as the couple at the other side of the table looked at them strangely.

"Yeah, but you like to try new things, and I'm pretty sure you've never had some of this before." Dean barely gave the angel a second glance, and Sam thought that was probably for the better. Cas was giving his brother this look of admiration and appreciation that would probably just make Dean really uncomfortable.

Sam hadn't ever been accused of being stupid, a little too self-involved sometimes, but never stupid. He knew his brother well enough to tell that something was up, and he also knew he was probably the sole witness to some of Cas's freak-outs. Sam was aware that on the angel's part there would be no troubles with sexuality or gender. Technically, Cas has neither. It was possible that there were other taboos at play, like an angel being involved with a human and the nephilim-though considering the male vessel and male human, a baby wasn't likely to result out of that; at least, Sam hoped not, no matter how funny the incident with the pooka had been.

He knew they were both torn as hell, despite the fact that all of the signs of attraction were right there, from the way Cas lit up when Dean came into a room to how embarrassed and ruffled the angel had been after stripping Dean of his clothes the night that the hunter still referred to as "the thing we don't talk about." Sam had found him nearly a half hour later, but he'd known that look, remembered that feeling. Cas was attracted to Dean and hadn't known how to deal with it; it had been sad and achingly familiar. Though a person couldn't pay Sam enough money to make him think about his brother and the angel doing any sort of bedroom activities, he could still try to encourage this friendship on to bigger and better things.

The twenty-something couple on the other side of the table, who had introduced themselves earlier as Jennifer and Parker, were trying not to stare at Dean and Cas. There was no look of disgust, but the two didn't look at the angel and hunter like they were adorable either. It seemed that to these two, Dean and Cas were just normal, if perhaps, doting on one another a little more than average-because as Dean was loading Cas up on food to try, the angel placed a mini double chocolate chip muffin on Dean's plate, the hunter's favorite if he was going to have muffins. Jennifer smiled and introduced them both.

"I'm Dean. This is Cas. I'm guessing you know my brother and Missouri already?"

Jennifer nodded. "I just can't believe we're getting to stay in the same B&B with one of the headliners for the festival. It's really exciting, isn't it, Parker?" She took her boyfriend's hand in hers and he tried to give her a supportive smile, but it was fairly obvious that he was no believer.

With the introductions over and Cas tentatively sampling the array of foods Dean had placed on his plate, Dean dug in to his own breakfast. He barely remembered to swallow when the owner came out from the kitchen asking how everything was and he told her it was "awesome." He wasn't lying either. Though Sam had less bacon and more fruit on his plate, the home-cooked meal was pretty incredible. Even the scrambled eggs tasted fresher than the usual diner or restaurant fare.

Castiel had also offered his compliments and thanks for the breakfast in that overly polite way of his. Though he was more restrained than Dean, it was obvious that Cas was enjoying his meal just as much. Which was why it was so funny to see the slightly disappointed look on his face when Johnny began to make the usual noises that signaled he was waking up. Instinctively, both he and Dean started to stand, but the Hunter placed a hand at Cas's shoulder and shoved him onto the chair. "Eat. I'll get him."

As Dean was leaving, Jennifer turned her attention to Cas. "You have a little boy? Was it difficult for you and your partner to adopt?"

Sam saw Dean's posture go ramrod straight before he turned his attention back to the table and the angel. Cas probably wouldn't have had an answer regardless, but after he met Dean's eyes, it was clear he was at a loss for words. He seemed to sense there was a minefield ahead, and Cas was smart enough to know he wasn't probably the best one to go traipsing through it.

"They didn't adopt," Missouri said, and though Sam was on her left, unable to see the look she shot Dean, he was pretty sure it was enough to keep him quiet. "Johnny's Dean's boy. He was already on the way when these two got their heads out of their behinds about dating." With that question answered, Dean headed back to his room, though Sam suspected he wasn't happy about it. His brother said nothing, but he was probably grousing the whole walk back to Johnny. Missouri had already admitted she was going to get those two "blockheads" to realize what they really wanted if it was the last thing she did. Subtlety, she said, was pointless with both of them. Sam was surprised she had picked up on that so quickly with Cas; Dean made it pretty obvious within seconds of knowing him.

"So, you took on a new relationship and a baby?" Parker asked, incredulously.

Cas paused, as though waiting for Missouri to spare him once again, but when he realized he was on his own, the angel finally answered, "It never crossed my mind to do otherwise. The bond I have with Dean is special. And I love Johnny." That last sentence was said not in the defensive tone the way most humans did when trying to justify a complicated relationship, but instead it was stated as an obvious fact.

Sam wondered how much introspection that had taken the angel. Given the fact that angels were supposed to be programmed-some less efficiently than others-to love humanity, it might have seemed wrong for one boy to rise above all others. Yet, somehow, Sam suspected the acknowledgment of his love for Johnny had come very easily and very quickly to Cas.

Sam could hear Johnny babbling to Dean. Most of it was gibberish, though he said "dada" just enough that Sam was sure his brother's chest was swelling in pride. "How old is he?" Jennifer asked as they could hear Dean talking back to Johnny in what Sam and Bobby had dubbed his "Daddy Voice." There was a noticeable difference between the way Dean talked to anyone else and the way he talked to his son.

"Thirty-three..." Cas's eyes widened, and he actually turned a little pink. "One. He just turned one."

"You're a braver man than I," Parker said, taking a bite of his bagel. His girlfriend looked at him strangely for a minute before returning her attention to Cas. The angel just looked confused at the idea of being called brave because Johnny was a year old, but he quickly covered by trying a bit of bagel topped with lox. He looked at it curiously as he chewed and then gently set it back on his plate. Not a favorite, apparently. Thankfully, he was subtler than Dean, who would probably have spit it back out only to realize after that the napkins were linen.

"Johnny's mother-"

"Was unfit," Cas said, cutting the woman off before she could finish her thought.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't pry."

Cas was in the process of telling her that there was no reason to apologize when Dean came back in the room with Johnny and began hooking him into the high chair that had been set up near the table. Parker obviously caught a glimpse of the boy's hand, and even from across the table, Sam could hear him suck air in through his teeth and see the slight wince. Sam saw pity, rather than disgust in the man's eyes, and that was probably the best, for Parker's safety, at least.

Johnny began calling Cas' name the moment he saw the angel. Cas smiled and offered that same goofy grin that had been making Johnny laugh for months now. It never failed to entertain him, and today was no exception.

Dean set three containers of food on the table. "Which one was it that he wouldn't eat?"

"Apple Mango," Cas said. "I gave the unopened ones to the Sioux Falls food bank so that there would be no confusion. He likes pear and cinnamon oatmeal, however."

Dean turned back to Johnny. "He's a smart one, your Cas," he told his son while the angel damned near glowed at the slight praise. It was all so domestic that Sam felt a little nauseated. It probably wasn't going to get better if they actually started dating.

The table grew quiet as everyone began to eat, save for Dean and Cas, who were talking to Johnny, partly to encourage him to eat despite being distracted by this new place and new people, partly because they he was now making noises for a handful of things and they were trying to coax new or better-formed words from the boy. It was domestic, and boring, and mundane. Despite the fact they were on a hunt, the whole scene was all so normal. It was white picket fences and apple pie.

At face value, the three made a nearly traditional family, excluding the angel in a male body. Dean was doing normal work fixing up cars, Cas was happy to stay at home with Johnny and see to his everyday needs and maintaining Bobby's house, much to Bobby's consternation. Cas was often cleaning or playing a noisy game with Johnny while the older hunter was trying to man the phones, offering advice or posing as a given federal or state agency. Dean had started cooking when Bobby didn't, and while he wasn't probably going to ever find a career as a chef, he was doing better with the basics.

Sam, though, was stuck somewhere between being a hunter and not during those times when they weren't actually on a hunt. He got to play uncle, taking Johnny to the park and entertaining him with cat videos on YouTube. But the whole thing would sometimes leave him imagining what it might be like to go back to school and trying for his own slice of apple pie. He'd end up having to retake a lot of his classes, then finish up that senior year that ended prematurely with Jess's death. Maybe it would make more sense to go back to school for something simpler, a community college with a two-year program, rather than however long it would take to redo his pre-law degree and another three or so for the J.D. itself. But the idea of supporting himself through something other than hustling pool, maybe having a place of his own, hell, even a car of his own... it was tempting stuff. He found himself thinking about that more and more, whether it was when he was busy researching a case or helping out one of the people they'd saved who became hunters because of them, for them. He and Emma had only been doing this relationship thing for three months, but increasingly more often, when he pictured that nearly apple-pie-life, she was there with him.

Jennifer excused herself from the table looking a little off, and she headed back in the direction of the bedroom she shared with her boyfriend. Missouri took that moment to turn to Parker. "You don't seem to like children all that much, Parker."

"That a crime?" he asked.

"It is to that girl back there. You remember a little over a month ago, right after she'd dealt with that nasty bug and the antibiotics, when neither of you wanted to do without and you hadn't stocked up on other preventatives?" Parker's eyes widened. "You remember assuring her, 'It'll be fine'?

"Normally, I leave this kind of big news to the people involved, but I have a feeling you might not react all that well. Now, if you want to be a good, supportive boyfriend and daddy-to-be, I'd recommend going to that bathroom, holding her hair and having a straight talk to her. That poor girl is all nerves thinking you won't want this." Missouri smiled. "And we both know that as scary as it is, you don't entirely mind the idea of being a father. Long as it's with her."

For a moment, Parker did an excellent impression of a goldfish. He couldn't seem to find the right words to say, and certainly none that would overcome his shock. When he finally did come out of his stupor, he did as Missouri suggested and rushed off to his girlfriend's side.

"That's the result of an abstinence-only education right there," Dean said as he ate a little of his own food before offering another spoonful to Johnny. "I swear 'Nothing will happen if it's just the once' is right up there with 'it can't happen on our first time' and slightly above 'I swear I'll be able to pull out.'"

"You've used a few of those in the past," Missouri pointed out, and Sam saw his brother turn a few shades of red.

"When I was a stupid kid, sure. It takes a hell of a lot for me to forget it now."

"Considering some of the women you've taken back to the hotel room, you shouldn't  _ever_  forget," Sam said, trying to will away the memories of Dean's pale, freckled ass in the air. He could hear Missouri snickering at his side. Apparently she didn't mind the view as much as Sam had.

"You've obviously never been worked up enough to let it slip your mind, I mean this one time-"

"Dean," Cas said with a level of irritation with an edge that sounded very near jealousy, "Johnny is right here, and I'm not sure this is an appropriate discussion, even if he is only one."

Sam's brother had the common sense to look sheepish at that. "Good point." He didn't offer an apology, per se, not that Sam had expected he would, but he did turn his attention back to the hunt instead of his past conquests. "So, Missouri, since you seem to be heading up this show, want to tell me what the plans are for the day?"

"Well, I've told people that you boys are my stepsons, and that you and Cas are-"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I got that much."

Lips pursed for a moment, Missouri made it obvious that she didn't take to being interrupted. "Sam's going to play Kevin Costner to my Whitney Houston and be my bodyguard, just in case I get targeted. Since that isn't likely, and if it is, I will get a vision of the event a day before it happens, it is probably safest for Johnny to stay with us while the happy couple goes out on the town for the day. There's a cafe downtown where we can meet for lunch."

Dean didn't say a word, neither did Cas, but they didn't have to. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they didn't like this idea much. Neither really liked leaving Johnny for long, and Cas was probably feeling it doubly since, with that necklace on, he couldn't pop back at the first sign of trouble.

#

Dean didn't like already having a label when he went into town, especially one that gave him next to no access. Why would the cops listen to a  _psychic_  in a town like this, let alone a "psychic's  _stepson_ "? Dean was, at least, able to charm the latest victim's granddaughter into talking. She might not have believed in all that "woo-woo crap," but the way her grandmother had died had at least made her curious as to what could have killed her. Dean knew after a few minutes of talking that he had her on the fence, and for once, Cas had been surprisingly helpful in getting her completely over..

"I know that, even as a non-believer, you know that there was something unreal, surreal, about the way that your grandmother died. In our time around Missouri, it has been equally shocking for us to see that the world does not necessarily work in the manner in which we expected."

"You're saying she's the real deal?" the granddaughter had asked skeptically.

Cas had smirked, actually smirked, at that. "If I had any doubt, it was erased when she smacked Dean on the back of his head for just thinking something inappropriate. Even I had not gotten any indication of where his mind had gone, and I know it better than most." Though that had sounded incredibly couple-y, it was probably true for completely non-normal reasons. "Is it possible that she was communing with a real ghost or that she had gotten anything from the first victim that might have been cursed."

That's how they'd learned about the necklace. The granddaughter had been distraught enough, and the last thing she had wanted was the piece of jewelry that had been around her grandmother's neck below where the planchette had stabbed her.

Now, they stood outside of a pawn shop in the middle of town, scouring the shelves for anything of interest. There was no necklace, but Cas had found three books he swore were legit and would knock Bobby's socks off, though he hadn't phrased it quite like that. "I would like to explore this place in more detail later. I believe there is a wealth of artifacts and knowledge hiding in this shop."

"Whatever you want," Dean told him. In the midst of looking for the necklace, he had been perusing the store's music selection, since his Metallica cassette was warping like hell at "Enter Sandman."

"I believe we should ask the owner," Cas said, placing a hand on Dean's arm, even as he scanned the shelf in front of them. Something there had caught his eye rather than picking it up like any normal person, he leaned closer to check it out. His palm was still flat on the hunter's forearm.

Dean couldn't help staring at Cas's hand, but it wasn't until the angel leaned back that he realized it. His friend pulled his hand back and waited for the hunter to meet his eye. "Couples touch a great deal more than usual. I don't think either of us would be particularly comfortable with holding hands while walking down the street. I doubt that even were we a couple that would occur. But touching occasionally seemed sensible to me."

With a sigh, Dean nodded. "I guess you're right." It so wasn't going to help matters for Dean's messed-up head, but it would bolster this absurd cover that Missouri had supplied for them. Dean glanced up to the man standing behind the counter, looking like he just got out of bed and wearing a brown cardigan and dingy white t-shirt. "You sure that's the owner?"

"I believe so," Cas said. "If he were an employee dressed like that, I suspect he wouldn't be allowed to dress so sloppily." The angel's reasoning had its usual logical base, but with a better understanding of human behavior than he normally showed.

The two approached the counter, Cas placing the books he'd picked out in front of the man now standing there. "Is there anything I can help the two of you with?" he asked.

"We're in town for the Festival. Missouri Mosley is my stepmother."

"She's one of the headliners for the festival, isn't she?"

"Yeah. Surprised me when she asked me to come. Not that she isn't the real deal," Dean said, realizing that this wasn't exactly a sprawling metropolis. He didn't want word getting around the town that even her own stepson didn't believe she was actually a psychic. "She's in my head more than I'm comfortable with, but she isn't much for putting on a show."

"I can understand that," the pawn shop owner said. "I don't think I'd be running this shop if I was a little better at the dog and pony routine." He handed Dean one of his cards. "I do readings, though." Of course he did. Didn't everyone in this place? Trying to remember that he needed to play friendly in this town because Missouri had limited him from using a badge as a cover. Dean was left with his charm instead.

"I understand you got the necklace that Grandma Goldy was wearing when she was killed." The owner immediately nodded in acknowledgment and gave it some mystical name to jack up the price. "It's not usually the type of thing that Missouri would go for, but if it's something special, then maybe she'd be interested." The man pulled out the necklace and handed it to Dean, to look at. He held it toward Cas to look at, because his eyes were more attuned than Dean's own, even like this. (The angel had already spotted five different counterfeits in the shop that the hunter would have missed.)

"It is very lovely," Cas said, "but I believe that Missouri will have difficulty getting past its recent history." That was Cas-speak for "this isn't it."

Dean apologized to the man and paid for the books that the angel was carrying under his hand.

Dean thanked the man again and walked out of the shop. He glanced over at Cas, who was busy perusing a copy of "The Complete Compendium of Supernatural Creatures." Of course, the book was ancient, so that was spelled with a few extra vowels and an F in place of every S. "The necklace was a no-go?" Dean asked as Cas flipped another page, nose buried in the tome like the giant bookworm he was.

"Made in Taiwan. And though this amulet dampens my Grace, I would have still sensed a curse that strong. Just as I sensed that man has a darkness in his soul." That was all said so offhandedly that Dean sometimes wondered at his own life, where his best friend could talk about someone's soul as though commenting on the weather.

"Darkness as in maybe the cause of all of this?" Skillfully, if he said so himself, Dean guided Cas by the arm around a pole and a fire hydrant

"Perhaps, but we will need to investigate more to determine how, if he is at all," Cas said, before his shoulders began to shake, alarming Dean. The hunter soon realized that there was no reason to be worried as he got a look at the angel's face and saw that the nerdy bastard was just laughing.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked.

"This book has a number of things which are accurate, particularly about monsters that were more prevalent in that time period, but its attempts at describing angels are amusing, not to mention the Enochian." They continued walking, but this time, Dean had to throw an arm over the angel's shoulders to properly guide him around the people setting up for the festival. "'Jegudiel, angel to the nobility, to government, protects and defends those that stand in judgment upon this earth and those that create our earthly laws.'" Cas's shoulders shook again. "Jegudiel despises politicians. He once threatened to destroy nobility and all leadership and make a heavenly mandate that humanity's leaders would be subject to Jegudiel's own angelic wrath if they failed to be just."

"What stopped him?" Dean said, not moving his arm, despite the fact that the angel was not looking at the book any longer. It felt nice, and so far, Cas wasn't complaining or running away.

"Raphael." The hunter couldn't really hide his surprise at that bit of information. "He was once a healer and friend to mankind, but he had loved Lucifer as much as Gabriel or Michael. He showed great love for all of us, but the archangels above all. I think, like so many of my brothers, he saw the apocalypse as a sort of closure and 'Team Free Will' as the obstructions in his path. Then, when two of his closest brothers were locked up and another dead, heaven fractured beyond recognition, he became all the more determined to get at least one of his brothers back, even at the cost of watching the world burn." Cas gave the smallest of smirks up at Dean. "I believe you could understand such brotherly devotion."

Damn the nerdy little guy, making him sympathize with that asshole.

"What does the Enochian say? You mate with the mouth of a goat?" Dean asked, wanting to change the subject. He was afraid of where the memories of Raphael might take Cas, and the man was perfectly fine remembering the angel as the dick who nearly got them all killed.

"This one says that, in order to summon Michael, and this is an approximate translation into English, one must state 'Reduced thanks to Michael for his service. We frolic into the fields and their desire to sing with you to the daisies. For us now, your honor, leading up to the clouds.'" Cas's brows knitted together as he reread the passage. "I am not entirely certain what they were actually trying to say."

"I think I'd pay good money to see Michael frolicking in the fields and singing to daisies, as long as it wasn't in my body."

Cas put the book back in the tan plastic bag the pawn shop owner had given him, and like a vacuum had just cleared through their good mood, the angel was all seriousness again. "At the very least, I will not live to see him use you as a vessel. He would have to kill me before that happens."

"Woah, woah, let's keep the talk of death out of otherwise happy conversations, OK?"

"You mentioned it first," Cas said, and damn but the angel was close-which Dean knew was his own doing, since he still had his arm around him. Those blue eyes looked at Dean's with all seriousness and just a bit of that "I pulled your ass out and I can throw it back" hardness.

"I just joked about being a vessel."

"And you think that would feel any different for me than if you died?" Cas asked. "To see my brother looking back at me, talking with your mouth..." Blue eyes moved downward, and involuntarily, Dean licked his lips. The angel stopped for a moment, as though his brain had been completely sidetracked, possibly derailed. Dean watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and slowly moved his eyes back up to the hunter's. "You would be burned out, gone. I would be mourning your death just the same."

Dean watched as Cas's lips parted and he swore the angel's pupils were dilated. Holy hell.

Suddenly, the last few weeks made sense. All the running off, the awkwardness, the avoidance. (The multiple trips to Rio still were a mystery.) How the fuck did this happen? And why wasn't he backing away right now?

Backing away would have been great, but not only didn't he do that, he had to pull the angel closer to get him out of the way of a man walking by with a box full of flowers. Cas was warm, though his chin was damned pointy as it collided with Dean's shoulder. Then there was the gasp followed by a grunt that he made when their chests collided; it was hardly anything at all, barely more than an expression of surprise, but it made the hair stand up at the back of Dean's neck.

After the man had passed, Cas backed away and apologized. The moment was gone, but there was no making that knowledge go with it.

#

"You will be set up on the main stage in the historic opera house," the perky blond event coordinator said as she guided Missouri, Sam and Johnny down Main Street. Though she was dressed in that free, hippie-esque manner the rest of the town seemed to favor, in the life before this woman discovered her inner eye and crystals and all that other unnecessary psychic and spiritual nonsense, she had probably worked in marketing. It was much easier to imagine her in a sharply tailored suit with her hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head than it was the flower child she had become.

"We will reserve a few seats for your family. You said your stepsons are here?" She gave Sam a fairly predatory look, and Missouri couldn't help but smirk at the fact that the usually brave hunter looked just a bit frightened.

"Yes, I will need seats for Sam and Johnny, here, and Dean and his partner Cas," Missouri said. She walked into the restored and well maintained old opera house and tried not to be overwhelmed by the size of it. She knew that by some psychics' standards, this was small potatoes. There were high school auditoriums that could hold twice this many people, but for Missouri, this was unnerving. She did one-on-one readings and preferred the personal contact that those allowed. It made it easier if she knew she had to break bad news to a client and it made clients feel less self-conscious when emotions began to run away, as they often did in her line of work.

The blond, former marketing executive gave the stage a critical glance, then sighed. "I told them not to hang the bunting so low that it would obscure the banner." She looked at Sam with long lashes batting over big blue eyes. "Would you be willing to help me make it right?"

Sam looked a little lost, and never let it be said that Missouri only enjoyed tormenting the elder of the two brothers. "I can keep an eye on Johnny. Go ahead."

_You were supposed to back me up on this_ , he thought very loudly. It was obviously a message he wanted her to get.

Missouri just shrugged and shooed him along to the blond's side. She took a seat in the front row and unfastened Johnny from his stroller. "I swear I'm not trying to play matchmaker with your Uncle Sammy," she said. "I know he has a nice girl waiting for him in Minnesota." Johnny looked at her with those wide green eyes, and though she knew he didn't quite understand what she was saying, there was something about the way he looked at her that told her he was trying.

"Now as to your dads, I  _am_  trying to get those two idiots together." She gave the boy a warm smile. "You've helped a lot in that, kiddo. I don't know that they'd have even gotten this far if you hadn't forced them to start behaving like a couple. Now we just need to get your daddy's head out of his behind."

She watched Sam climb a stepladder while the event coordinator held it from below, fully appreciating the view of the man's behind. Though Missouri thought of those boys almost like they were her own sons, she could at least recognize they were both in damned good shape. It was almost certainly all of that military-style training they had undergone over the years.

And that brought another issue to her mind. "I know you won't remember this, Johnny, but once you're old enough to question about your namesake, I hope you come to me as much as you do your family. Unfortunately, none of them are capable of giving you a very unbiased opinion of John Winchester. Depending on which one of them you ask and on what day, you could find yourself hero worshipping or hating the man. And he deserves maybe a little of both, but a whole lot in between."

Johnny was still watching her, though his right hand was now moving for her mouth as she spoke, apparently intrigued by the shine of her lip gloss. And while she was all for letting babies be babies, she didn't especially want it messed up, so she moved the boy just out of reach.

"Still, you've got a good, solid family in that crazy bunch. And normally, they're very quick to spot anything unusual or supernatural, so that should keep you safe." She pulled out a set of plastic keys from where Johnny had dropped them in the seat of his stroller and offered them to the boy, who was still fascinated by her mouth. "You know the funny thing, though? It never crossed any of their minds that when you saw that angel in the sky, you knew your Cas looked just like that. I wonder if they'll ever figure out you've seen his real form."

#

Balthazar was pacing inside what was quickly becoming his favorite pub in heaven. Admittedly, they were still adding to the place, so he didn't exactly have a wealth of other options. But he liked it here and had little trouble mingling with the people who frequented it. Today, though, he was not entirely comfortable. He knew Metatron had gone to visit his wife, and he wasn't sure what the result of that would be. His friend had spent millennia sick missing his wife, and every time she had been incapable of coping with what was now his reality.

But Balthazar had listened to his friend talk about his wife over these years, and he knew how much Edna meant to the former human. She had been resistant to change over the years, and Balthazar didn't think she was likely to improve. What would that mean for Metatron? Would he feel obligated to stay with her? When Balthazar had given his friend his body back, he hadn't really considered the possibility he might lose him.

He moved to the bar and ordered a scotch, Bowmore if they had it, which they did. Did he mention this was his favorite bar?

"Could you make that two?" said a familiar—despite the fact that it had been in multiple different forms over the years, it  _was_ familiar—voice at his side.

Balthazar tried not to smile when he knew this wasn't good news for his friend if Metatron was here so soon after his meeting with his wife. "How did it go with the missus?" he asked, trying to sound like his normal, flippant self.

"It went better than I had expected," Metatron said. "Though not as well as I had hoped." He took a drink of the scotch and met Balthazar's eyes. The other angel wasn't asking him anything at the moment, suspecting that his friend would elaborate when he was ready. "We've become two very different people."

Balthazar nodded. "That's to be expected, isn't it? But that doesn't have to be a bad thing."

Metatron sighed. "At least three times during out conversation, the Holy Spirit had to intervene and actually translate for me because I was using Enochian terms that had no comparable meaning in our native tongue." He frowned and took another small drink of his scotch. Metatron had decent enough taste to know this was a sipping whiskey, not one to slug back. "When God made me … this..." Balthazar tried not to take that as an insult. "He made me something different from my wife. Separated us further than we already were."

"So that's it?"

"We agreed on giving it time and seeing what happened." Metatron swiped his thumb over the lip of the glass. "But I think I have been given too much of a head start."

"Well, her loss," Balthazar said. It didn't sound like the right thing to say, but it felt like the most honest thing he could manage at that moment.

Metatron took a drink of his scotch, downing it all at once, which was unusual for him. Then again, he'd had a shitty day and was in a body he didn't  _have_  to treat like borrowed goods because it wasn't. "I think I'll leave the grand romances up to Dean and Castiel."

Balthazar finished his own drink and felt a set of dark eyes following his every move. "What?"

"You know, I've had a rough day," Metatron said. "The least you could do is buy me a drink." He nudged him with his shoulder. "It's what a good friend would do."

"Metatron, you  _do_  realize this is heaven and we don't technically  _buy_  drinks here, right?"

"Then why aren't you ordering me one?" the shorter angel asked with a smirk. He was hurting right now, there was no denying that, but suddenly Balthazar felt bad for even thinking he'd lose his friend after all of this.

He threw an arm around Metatron's shoulders and raised two fingers in the air to the barkeep. "For my friend and myself, my good fellow."

 

_Author's Note:  (Be prepared for a couple of chapters to follow. I've had issues with the net and rich text on this site, so I owe you several chapters.)_


	39. Just Like the Campbell "Brothers"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunting is not made easier for Dean with new knowledge about Cas's feelings.

_"It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words."_

_T.S. Eliot, American-born English Editor, Playwright, Poet and Critic_

"I don't like when 'Nice family outtings,'" Dean said, actually attempting to immitate Missouri, "coincide with doing a hunt." He looked around the room as the other tourists explored the artifacts from psychics and charlatans of years past. "And if I was going to take my kid somewhere for fun, this wouldn't be my first pick in museums."

"You wouldn't take him to a museum at all," Sam said.

"Sure I would. Smithsonian's got some cool stuff," Dean said, and Sam couldn't help but notice that his brother's eyes didn't leave Cas and Johnny. The boy had quickly grown bored of the museum, as much as his father, and was now sound asleep and drooling on the angel's shirt. "Remember when Dad dropped us off in D.C. while he was busy hunting that poltergeist?"

"I remember you being convinced to find out what the deal was with the Hope diamond, and then spending the day evading security guards who noticed that an eight- and twelve-year-old were wandering the National Mall unattended."

"You didn't help things when you just had to touch Washington's desk, either," Dean said, shooting Sam a dirty look before returning his focus to Cas and Johnny. Sam couldn't say what, but something must have happened while the angel and his brother had been out because Dean was watching those two like a hawk. "But as long as we can keep your fingers away from the historic artifacts, I'd be willing to go again. Get some freeze-dried ice cream, see the giant dinosaur skeletons. It'd be cool, and I bet Johnny'd love it."

"Cas could probably give you a run-down of the accuracies and inaccuracies of the various collections, too."

Dean snorted. "Probably."

As the group moved into the next room, the brothers followed behind. This room was the one they had been waiting on.

"Do you remember what 'Miss Cleo' said the ghost looked like?" Dean said.

"I do," Sam said, still remembering the frantic woman rushing into the opera house to tell the woman coordinating everything that she was backing out of the festival ASAP and moving the hell away from the town. "And I've got one better." He held up his phone and the picture he'd taken of the video footage.

"Very helpful. Not too shabby looking for an evil ghost," Dean said.

"We've killed prettier," Sam muttered, remembering the woman in white when he'd gotten back into the whole hunting gig.

Dean nodded and glanced at the photos lining the wall, dragging Sam behind him so he could get a clear view of his brother's phone. "These are our sibling acts," the tour guide said. "It never really ended well for the siblings."

"Why's that?" Dean asked, taking a sudden interest, probably because he and Sam were, arguably, their own sibling act.

"The strain of working together, or maybe just being around each other all their lives," the man said, then pointed to a photo of two men. "Those two were the exception, actually. The Campbells." Sam looked at his brother and mouthed that last name. "Got along famously. Of course, that was just a stage name. They weren't actually brothers. That was a cover for their, um... alternative lifestyle."

"I wonder if they were..." Sam started, but didn't finish his thought.

It was enough of an opening, though, for Cas to chime in. "The man on the left is your second cousin, five times removed. The other is, well, technically of no relation."

"If they were together that long, good enough to call him a distant cousin, too," Dean said. Cas stared at the photo for a few moments, then looked up at Sam.

Dean's attention was still on their distant relatives as the angel said, "It would make sense that it runs in the family."

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, his attention snapping back like a tight rubber band as he looked between the angel and his brother. " _What_  runs in the family?"

"Psychic ability," Cas said. His brows met in confusion. "What did you think I meant?"

Dean was visibly flustered at that and he stammered a few times before he managed a response. "I don't know. That's why I asked."

Sam shrugged at Cas, who was looking to him for answers. This wasn't the place for this conversation, and the angel probably didn't need to be around if Dean was going to descend into a panic attack about his own sexuality. Sam assumed it was just a matter of time before Dean had one about either having an attraction to Cas despite him being in a guy's body, or knowing he was getting this close to Cas and yet not knowing about whether he would be attracted to him enough to have a full relationship with him as another man. And that was if he didn't go into the whole angel-wearing-an-ad-salesman issue.

The angel didn't look pleased at getting no real answer from either brother, but he didn't bother asking again.

Sam glanced at the tour guide, who was looking at the bunch of them with a broad grin. "How very fascinating that you should find yourselves in Lily Dale, just like the Campbell Brothers." Dean winced at the comparison, probably because the guide was looking between Dean and Cas with an additional meaning as well.

"If you go to the next room, you'll see a little about Harry Houdini's visit to the town and his attempts to debunk many of the practitioners of the time," the guide said to the rest of the group who were done looking at the wall of photos and ready to move on. Castiel, behaving like a dutiful tourist, headed into the room with them. The tour guide, however, placed a hand on Dean's arm. "I'm really sorry. I don't normally do this. But do you know an Ellen?"

Both brothers' attention snapped up to the tour guide. Of course he was a psychic. Their waiter had given them affirmations along with their soup and sandwiches, the busboy had predicted struggle for Johnny growing up-Dean had nearly punched him-and the clerk at the gas station had analyzed Dean's "nervous and uneasy" signature on the receipt, which had only been unsteady because the hunter wasn't used to signing his own name or having his own money. If they could all be "psychics" or mystics or whatever, then so could their tour guide.

"Please pardon my language here," the man said, "but she is being particularly insistent. She said to relay to Dean to get his head out of his ass and take something good when it presents itself. And to congratulate Sam on not only getting a nice girl, but for behaving like a mature adult." The tour guide offered a sympathetic smile. "She misses you both."

Dean looked as shaken as Sam felt. But was also just a little comforted by the knowledge that the woman who, but for the crap that was their life, could have been their second mother, was still watching out for them. Dean seemed to be thinking the same thing, but at the same time, he was eying Sam warily, the way he usually did when he knew Sam was going to want a heart-to-heart and he didn't want to have one.

And for once, he'd give his brother his space. Sam knew that Missouri was harping on Dean pretty bad, so he thought he might give the man a break for once. But only this once.

As the tour guide headed for the next room, Dean quickly returned talk back to the hunt. "So, you see anyone familiar here?" Sam shook his head, but he kept looking. "What about these two?" Dean asked, pointing to a picture of two women.

Both women were dressed similarly to the one in the image on Sam's phone, but he hadn't been able to get a completely clear shot of the ghost's face, but he was fairly sure, as he looked at the women in their long black dresses that it had been one of them. The resemblance was definitely there. He moved closer to his brother's side to get a better look at them both. "The one on the right, I think. The video's quality wasn't great."

"Well, we can torch them both and see what happens. What time did the psychic say she was supposed to be attacked?"

"One, probably a.m.," Sam said.

"See if she can stay with someone until we get this settled. And I'm going to have to ask Missouri to babysit while we do a little digging. With two graves, we're going to need every set of hands we can get."

#

Cas as an angel was a badass and generally awesome. Cas depleted of his Grace was still tough as shit when it came to fighting. Unfortunately, Cas with his Grace dampened was a lousy laborer. He was currently leaning against one of the Fox sisters' tombstones, rubbing at his arms while Dean and Sam both dug at the sisters' graves. "How do the two of you do this so easily?" he asked. "I would be here until morning and not be half so far along as you both are now."

Dean stood, only his shoulders and head clearing the hole he'd dug in the younger sister's grave, and smirked at the tired-looking angel. "Practice makes perfect. Either that or in another life we were grave robbers." He took another stab at the dirt with his shovel and with practiced skill tossed it over his shoulder and into the growing mound at the end of the grave.

"I believe I have left Jimmy's arms to atrophy," Cas said.

" _Your_  arms, Cas," Dean said. Jimmy was gone and had given the angel his approval to keep the body as his own. And Dean was busy having dreams most nights that were starting to involve him doing things to that body. Overall, he didn't want to think of Cas as some kind of parasite just wearing a Jimmy Novak suit.

"And no, you're not. Jimmy was an ad salesman who probably ran to keep in shape, if he did anything at all," Sam said, sticking his own head out of Margaret's grave. Bastard's head was even with Dean's, which meant he was down further and nearly done. "This isn't the kind of labor that his body-" Dean cleared his throat at that. " _Your_  body is used to."

"I will have to remedy that. I foresee this amulet being helpful in future hunts, but I need better endurance if I am going to be of any use."

"That means a good old-fashioned work-out routine, I think," Dean said as he resumed shoveling, and decidedly  _not_  imagining a hot, sweaty Cas. "Weight lifting, running, push-ups... You could even try yoga if you wanted. At least justify all of those damned pants you bought."

"They are  _comfortable_ ," Cas sniped back. "And much easier to catch a now-walking baby in than a suit or a pair of denim jeans."

"You can just say jeans, dude. We know they're denim." Dean lobbed another shovel of dirt behind himself and tried to catch up with gigantor's steady pace. "And you don't understand how comfortable jeans can be until you have an old pair. Yours are all practically brand new."

"Why buy clothes that require a person to wear them half out just to be comfortable?"

"Because if your ass got drug across gravel by a pissed off ghost in those paper-thin yoga pants, your pants and your ass would be shredded."

Sam was laughing, looked like he'd been laughing for a while but keeping it quiet until that moment when it just burst out of him like diet soda and Mentos-yeah, Dean had tried doing it, and it was awesome. Simultaneously, both Dean and Cas asked him why he was laughing, and Sam just shook his head, muttered something about "old married couple" and kept shoveling.

Dean returned to his shoveling, nearly reaching the casket below. He could already hear Sam's shovel cracking the rotting wood in the grave next to him. "Dean..." he heard come cautiously from the angel at the gravestones. The hunter looked up to see Cas staring at something behind him, and when he turned, he saw Kate Fox's ghostly form standing at the edge of her own grave.

"Shit!" he yelled as he started digging more furiously and stabbing through the remaining inches of dirt to get to the bones inside.

"Please," the woman's voice said, holding up her hands in surrender. "Not yet."

"Do you expect us to wait until you have killed half of the town?" Cas said, stepping forward and seeming to forget that he was very human at the moment.

"I warn them."

"Warn them of what?" Cas asked as Dean kept working.

"Her sister," Sam said as he looked down at the casket under his feet. "It's empty."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. To his brother, he spoke more loudly, "You're thinking necromancy."

"She is working with the pawn shop owner, isn't she?" Cas asked. He'd gotten a vibe off of the guy early on, and Dean wouldn't be surprised if his hunch had been right.

The ghost nodded. "He has her bones, but they are happy to work together. Please stop them."

Dean looked at the grave he'd dug up, knowing that if she wanted to be put to rest, she was going to need salted and burned

"Will you help me to move on?" Her face turned to Cas expectantly. She seemed to know what he was, if the fact that she was looking at him like her entire afterlife rested on his hunched shoulders. Then again, she was a ghost and technically supernatural, herself,  _and_  in life and death was a psychic, so maybe she saw through the amulet. "I know that I am a practitioner of gifts some viewed as satanic, but they never felt so to me. ... If I leave..."

"Many things have been mislabeled. You had a gift in life and in death. It does not come from the devil," Cas said. Dean could see Sam wincing at that, but he returned his focus to the woman, who was smiling in her relief. Cas moved between the graves to touch the woman's hand. "We will take care of your sister. Be at peace." His left hand removed the amulet from around his neck before he began speaking in Enochian in a calm, comforting voice. Dean wondered if Castiel the warrior of God could have managed that same level of sympathy for the woman or offered the kind of warmth the hunter was witnessing now. Though Dean didn't doubt that the potential for such kindness had always been there, he liked to think that he'd brought something a little more compassionate out in the angel.

The ghostly form uttered a single "thank you" before her body was engulfed in a weirdly comforting blue light. The small smile that remained on Cas's face was so content at that moment that it made Dean feel that old guilt for having pulled his friend away from his heavenly duties. He'd made such a mess of Cas by making him more human, and it was obvious that Cas still got pleasure out of being an angel.

Damned bastard must have been hearing Dean's thoughts, because the hunter could see the angel's attention was now on him. The moon was full, so Dean could clearly see the disapproving look on Cas's face.

Dean couldn't have taken the look any longer, so he climbed out of his hole and got ready to start filling it back in.

"No need," Cas said, putting his hand on Dean's arm.

"You know, you're a lot more efficient on a hunt than Sam, here," Dean said as he watched Cas use his mojo to put the graves back in order and then loop the necklace back around his neck. "Guess we'll leave him home to babysit and you and I can handle the hunting."

"Why do I get left behind?" Sam asked. "Cas and I can handle the hunting. I think we'd make a pretty great team."

"Cas and I have a profound bond," Dean said, throwing an arm around Cas's shoulders. "We'd work more smoothly because he likes me better."

"Don't worry, Dean. Even if we go on hunts together, I'm not going to steal your boyfriend away from you," Sam teased as he slung his shovel over his shoulder. Dean stiffened momentarily, and he could feel Cas's shoulders tensing beneath his arm. He had to wonder if his younger brother had any clue about what had been going on with Dean and Cas lately. By the look of his smirk, Dean thought Sam probably did. After all, he'd been the one who'd initially dealt with most of Cas's freak-outs, including going out on the roof to find him.

Ass.

If this was Sam's way of showing he was cool with things between Dean and Cas, well, he could be mature, too. "Not boyfriend, according to Missouri. Domestic partner. Besides, Cas wouldn't go after someone with your cro-magnon head when he's got someone as good looking as me waiting for him." Saying it himself, even in jest, was weird, because he  _knew_  Cas felt something, or was at least attracted. Dean saw it now, the way his friend stared, the fact that Cas looked a little hot around the collar when they were like this.

What was weirder, though, was Cas reaffirming it. "I am sorry, Sam. While I mean no offense to you or your appearance, I do find Dean more aesthetically pleasing."

"No offense taken, Cas."

"Come on, Honey Lumps," Dean said as he guided Cas back to the car. "We've got a ghost to gank and a pawn broker to beat up."

#

"We have problems," Bella said as she pulled Meg into the small office at the rear of the house they were squatting in, along with the rest of their little squad.

"I don't particularly like to hear that," Meg said. "What's the problem?"

"I have talked to all of my contacts, and none of them know of any signs matching up to what we're looking for," Bella said. "No meteor crashes, no comets, no big, unusual trees sprouting out of the ground. Nothing. Not in the timeframe they would have been conceived or when they were born."

"Luckily, my contacts were able to find the boys and their parents without all of the supernatural signs," Meg said.

"But as far as we know, they're just little boys," Bella said, and Meg could hear some uncertainty at that. Bella became a full-fledged demon too early; her ruthlessness toward Dean Winchester and the well cultivated merciless attitude that had served her well in life had let some of the higher-ups ignore the fact that she still had her soft spots, and apparently children were among them. Meg didn't doubt that she would still soldier through whatever doubts she might have, but it was clear that Bella had them.

"So we'll test it out. We'll send the expendables in, and if the angels fry them, we know we've got two baby birds instead of just babies."

She smiled and walked out into the next room where their "leader" was busy trying to strategize. Meg could almost literally see the smoke coming out of his ears at thinking so hard. "Oh, Boys," she said with a broad smile on her face. "You won't believe what I just heard."

"We keep you around to be pretty, not to 'hear' things."

She leaned against the table near the corpse of the middle aged soccer mom who had once called the house home. "So it wouldn't interest you at all that Uriel and Raphael, two angels we know are willing to work with demons, are back as bouncing baby angels?"

The olive-skinned demon looked up suddenly. He was stupid, but he was less stupid than the others, and it was clear he didn't like that she had this information, nor that he didn't know for how long she'd known. "And why didn't you get this information to me sooner?"

"Because I know that none of you are exactly my biggest fans, so I had to make sure I was coming in here with the whole story. I sure as hell wasn't giving you an excuse to kill me." The demon's eyes narrowed and he scrutinized her closely. It was different from the normal scrutiny he usually placed her under, but it could be because there was nothing sexual to this this time. He wasn't entirely joking when he said he kept her around to be pretty. She knew he wanted her as long as she wandered around in this body, and certainly in any female body. He'd been sent to hell for being a sadist who got off on controlling women, so naturally, he loved his new position of power.

"Okay," he said, "we'll check it out, but I hope you're right." There was an underlying threat to that, and it didn't take a genius to recognize it.

She really hoped these were angels, not just because wanted to see his ass fry, but because she really didn't want to find out what his idea of punishment was.


	40. Wounded Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take on the psychic and the ghost.

_Author's Note: Please note this update comes along with Chapters 38 and 39, so if you missed those, don't start here. I'm just way behind because of connection issues and getting rich text to work here, so I'm trying to catch up. Thank you all for reading!_

 

" _Love implies anger. The man who is angered by nothing cares about nothing."_

_Edward Abbey, American Author and Essayist._

Among the stupid things Crowley has done in his life, at the top of the list had been working with angels, so the fact that he found himself, once again, contacting an angel-and not just any angel but Heaven's Counsel Leader-slash-archangel-slash-"Trickster with an Evil Sense of Humor" Gabriel-he was questioning his own sanity just a little. He'd well cleared the room and nearby area of any of his lackeys who might get the wrong idea about cooperating with heaven, which meant they were all gone. So he had no one to protect him if Gabriel decided to go back on his promise to leave him be.

"Well," said the somewhat nasally tone with the faint lisp that Crowley was beginning to loathe. He just wasn't sure which he hated most. "I have to say I'm surprised to be hearing from you. I thought I made it pretty clear that what we have going here is an arrangement, not a partnership."

"Not that I'm not  _thrilled_  at the prospect of saying 'how high' every time you say jump, but I  _do_  act on my own from time to time. You'll find it's one of my charms." Crowley poured a bit of Scotch, not his good stuff, which he had no intention of sharing with the angel again. This was good enough. "But I thought this particular time, you might like a little of my intel. A little birdy told me that the orthodox demons-"

"Orthodox demons?" Gabriel asked, pouring a glass of the scotch for himself and smirking wryly at Crowley when he took the first sip. He'd apparently spotted the difference immediately; he wasn't the Philistine Crowley took him for. If they were on the same team, Crowley swore they could almost be friends, before he stabbed Gabriel in the back on his rise to power, naturally.

"Lucifer worshipers. Meg Masters has fallen in with a group of them, and she's gotten info on something in Phoenix, Arizona," Crowley said. He saw Gabriel's eyes widen, but before the demon could ask what was so special about Phoenix, the angel was gone and his glass was shattering to the floor. "Very classy," Crowley called after him. "You give me nothing, break my glass, and I don't even get so much as a 'Thank you.'" The words had no sooner left his lips than a card fell to the table with a light slap.

He opened the envelope carefully. The card inside had a picture of a dalmation covering his eyes with the caption "It's a DOGGONE shame." His eyes narrowed as he opened it up to reveal the inside, which simply read, "I'm sorry," and it was signed, "Your Buddy Upstairs. By the way, use the gift card to buy a whole new set of glasses. On me."

Crowley looked back inside the envelope to find a $25 gift card to Amazon. "Yeah. Because $25 is going to replace a turn-of-the-century Lalique decanter set. Bloody arse."

#

They were prepared to stop the man who called himself Jimmy Tomorrow, and Dean and Sam both were discussing last minute plans for the hunt, but Castiel feared he wasn't going to be much help while his mind was still so distracted. His head was still trying to process his friends' earlier joking about their relationship. He had expected Sam to do so, since the younger brother had been making insinuations for the last month, longer even, about them both and encouraging any misconceptions about Dean and Castiel's friendship. What had surprised him was Dean's reaction. He didn't deny the joke, but instead supplied a reason as to why the angel should like him better.

It inspired something akin to hope in Castiel, but with that hope came an entirely new fear. Sooner or later, something would take this away from him. It was inevitable. Dean was settling down in a way he hadn't been able to before. There would be people who would become special to him, outside of that close-knit, mottled-together family.

Maybe it would be Fallyn's mother who forced a change in the family dynamics. She had been to visit a few times in the last month. Maybe it would be someone else, or no one at all, just the acknowledgment that this was all too complicated. For as good as Dean's earlier ease had made him feel, Castiel was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Odds are pretty good the altar and bones aren't in the shop," Dean said. "But we need to be sure. Text or call, or pray, whatever, if you spot anything." Castiel had only half been paying attention when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Cas and me will take care of the apartment." Castiel saw Sam wanting to correct the grammar in that sentence, but most of his attention was on Dean.

"I should keep the amulet on so I do not act as a warning to either Jimmy Tomorrow or Margaret Fox." He said the words, but personally, he wanted to tuck the necklace inside a pocket or give it to one of the brothers and just appear inside the psychic's home, but he knew there were no guarantees that would solve everything. He was also aware that that was not how the Winchesters solved things. They liked to face their battles head-on, not allow anyone, even a friend, to do the work for them.

Instead, he took the gun Dean handed him, loaded with lead rounds that would "hurt and/or kill whichever of the psychics show their ugly mugs." It felt different in Cas's hands than the sawed-off shotgun had two years ago, but he tried to adjust to its weight in his hand. If he could wield a blade and use a shotgun, he could do this.

Sam headed for the store downstairs while Dean led the angel to the enclosed stairwell leading to Jimmy Tomorrow's apartment. The hunter was about to open the door, but offered a glance at Castiel and frowned. Dean stuck his pistol into the waistband of his pants then covered Cas's hand, which was currently wrapped around the pearl-handled gun that the hunter usually favored. "Don't put your thumb there. The recoil is a bitch if you do."

Castiel could feel that familiar fluttering in his chest, the heat rising to his face. It was made all the worse by the way Dean was smiling at him in that moment. The hunter seemed to be studying him similarly to the manner the angel was usually accused of doing to Dean, and Castiel could finally see why it had always bothered him so much. But then there was a flicker of worry that spread across the hunter's features. "Maybe we should ditch the necklace."

"If you are worried about my safety, you needn't be. I have fought with my Grace far more diminished than it is now." While he was perhaps a little pleased that he meant enough to Dean for him to worry, he didn't want his friend to do so needlessly. He also knew that the necklace was necessary on this hunt and may prove vital in others. He could not have his friend coddling him just because he wasn't at full power, and it was likely this wouldn't be the last hunt where he would be in this state. "And if this man can sense my Grace as Missouri said, it would alert both him and the ghost, giving them opportunity to fight back or to go after Sam or someone else first."

"I get that," Dean said. "I just prefer knowing your juice is turned up to eleven." There was something in the hunter's inflection and the pause that followed that usually indicated the angel was missing something.

"You continue using references that I do not understand," Castiel said, frowning in disapproval.

"Then it just means I need to continue your education. Not sure if you'll like Spinal Tap or not. I think you could go either way." Spinal Tap sounded rather painful, but Castiel would give Dean the benefit of the doubt.

That seemed to be the end of their discussion, and while Dean still didn't look happy about the situation, he was at least climbing the last steps to the apartment.

Though his Grace may have been dampened, He could feel that darkness intensifying with each step they took nearer the door. He pulled out his phone and awkwardly texted Sam, with Dean watching him the entire time, eyebrow raised.  _I am relatively certain the ritual is performed here. Come upstairs as quickly as possible._

"You know, you could type that a lot quicker if you didn't use things like 'relatively certain' in a text message." Apparently, he'd been reading as the angel typed.

"I prefer to offer complete statements rather than abbreviated messages like the ones you leave me, full of substituted words and acronyms I don't understand." Dean rolled his eyes and turned toward the door... which was now open.

"I'm going to have to guess that you're not here because of my excellent marketing skills," Jimmy Tomorrow said, lifting a hand and pushing the air, and consequently Castiel, with it. With no warning at all, the angel found himself being slammed against a wall, then another, then tumbling down the stairs. He was fairly sure that in the process he suffered a concussion, at least two broken ribs and a broken leg. While he could normally note the damage, assess it and fix it, all he could do this time was cry out in pain. He wasn't sure how humans withstood it. Sadly, Jimmy was not yet done with him and flung him one more time. And in his stupor, the angel managed to think that the noise of his head slamming into the nearby wall sounded remarkably like a melon being thrown against concrete.

"You son of a bitch," Dean said, firing the gun and hitting the psychic. Castiel vindictively found himself hoping it hurt as a figure came into his blurred view. It was too small to be Sam, and the blow to his head had Castiel too dazed to process exactly who it must be and that he needed to call out for help. His body was going into a hibernative state, and his Grace was beginning to compensate for the damage done.

His last thought before blacking out completely was that he had hoped he'd be of more use to the brothers.

#

The sound of gunfire instantly spurred Sam into action. He had been leaving the store, doing one last sweep for any sign for the ghost or the owner, but the moment he'd heard the gunshot, he'd started running for the door. He ran around the side of the store to the entrance of the upstairs apartment. The moment he pulled the door open, he found Cas slumped at the foot of the stairs.

Dean was standing at the top, looking torn between pursuing Jimmy and checking on Cas. "I've got him," he told his brother and waved him ahead.

It was pretty obvious that Dean wanted to stay and check on Cas, but he was closest to the psychic. Ever the hunter, Sam's brother headed forward into the apartment, out of the Sam's sight.

Before Sam could lean forward to check on his friend, he was careening back into the wall and Cas's limp body was being held up against the one opposite. By the way the angel's limbs were dangling and far too many years of seeing this happen to his brother, Sam was fairly sure the ghost had Cas by his neck. Margaret was hovering nearby and probably had been for some time. In his worry over the unusual sight of Cas on the ground, prone, Sam hadn't noticed the signs that must have been there all along.

Though Margaret was using her still-considerable powers to hold them back, her focus was on Cas, which allowed Sam to raise his rifle and shoot the ghostly woman full of rock salt. As soon as she disappeared, Cas slumped to the ground like a marionette that had just had its strings cut. It would be only a matter of seconds before Margaret reappeared, but he needed to check on his friend. He kept the rifle at the ready and knelt at Cas's side.

"Sam!" he heard his brother call from upstairs. "Sam, answer me!"

"I'm okay," Sam shouted back, not wanting his brother's mind taken off of tracking down the psychic and that altar. Not any more than it was bound to be as long as Cas was still slumped on the floor.

"How is he?" Sam could hear the worry in his brother's voice, but like a true Winchester, he knew he couldn't drop the hunt, not until everyone was safe. Of course, Sam could also tell that his brother was distracted, if the muttered question that followed, "Where'd the son of a bitch go?" was anything to go by.

Those questions usually didn't bode well for a hunter uttering them

With his fingers pressed to Cas's jugular, Sam could feel a faint pulse, but he wasn't entirely sure what that meant for an angel. What he was certain of was that he needed to get that amulet from around Cas's neck and let his Grace operate at full power. It was too much of a risk to leave it on, and now that they were already caught, the angel didn't really need to stay in hiding.

"He's still with us," Sam said. It wasn't the most reassuring answer for his brother, he knew, but it was the best he could offer at the moment. He knew that the first thing he needed to do was get that amulet. Cas had seemed so certain of this amulet that the hunters had gone along with him using it. Now, the hunter realized that it had been reckless to try it out for the first time on a hunt, and Sam could guess that Dean was regretting it as much as he was.

He was in the process of removing the leather cord from his friend's neck when a sudden chill made Sam's hair stand on end. He whipped around to point his rifle at the ghost he knew was once again standing behind him, only to have her toss it off to the side. The area leading to Jimmy Tomorrow's apartment wasn't big, but the gun was just out of his reach now.

He found himself once again cursing that this woman's abilities along with a palpable bitterness had been allowed to continue even after death. It was just one more giant notice in a life that had been a never-ending reminder that karma just couldn't possibly be real. His fingertips barely brushed the muzzle as it was jerked away by an unseen force. He was left now with only the chain he'd wrapped around his left arm, but the woman saw that one coming, too. Sam's arm was thrown back so quickly he could feel his shoulder move out of its socket, strained too far beyond the limits of muscle and sinew. Through the excruciating pain, he wondered if it would be ripped clean off, and just how much more this was going to hurt if it didn't and he had to pop it back into place. He'd been through dislocated joints enough to know the popping in was as bad or worse than the popping out.

And then the gun that had fallen beneath Cas's body was lifted and pointed at the ghost. A round of rock salt was fired and she faded away. Sam turned back to the angel to see blue eyes open and hurting.

"You okay?" Sam managed through his pain. The angel nodded and pulled the amulet from his neck. Like Sam, he must have decided there wasn't much point to keeping it on at this point.

"Its powers dissipated once I was rendered unconscious."

"Like a failsafe," Sam said, and even though Cas hadn't said a word about it, the hunter knew his friend hadn't quite understood the meaning.

"Broken ribs are quite painful," Cas said, rubbing his side before straightening against the wall.

Sam very nearly sighed in relief as he saw the angel's fingers reaching toward his forehead. If he hadn't had all faith in karma destroyed, he might have thought this was the world getting even with him for making fun of Dean on the skinwalker hunt three months before. Especially when the fingers and the angel attached to them pulled away and ran up the stairs as soon as another gunshot was fired and it was Dean's voice crying out in pain instead.

#

Bullet wounds generally sucked ass. Dean had been injured in enough ways to know that there were few ways of getting hurt that were actually good, but he had a special place in his heart for bullets that was only trumped by an arrow that hadn't passed all the way through. Bullets pierced, they tore and they burned, and their impact could sometimes be enough to knock him off his feet or at least send him staggering backward.

This time, thankfully, he was sent back only a few steps, but that may have been thanks in part to the wall behind him. The bastard had got his leg, outer thigh, which meant Dean shouldn't bleed to death in a matter of moments or lose some equipment he was particularly fond of. He was, however, pretty damned partial to the jeans the asshole had just ruined and the side of his leg, so he  _might_  have returned fire just about as soon as he hit the wall.

"You and Margaret had better be some kind of dynamic duo, because I swear to God that I'm going to do everything I can to watch you both burn," Dean said, less because of his leg and more because he still wasn't sure that Cas would pull through whatever the ghost and Jimmy Tomorrow had done to him.

Jimmy appeared from inside the doorway to his bedroom, one hand at his side, the other swinging upward. Dean had been in this spot often enough that he wasn't really even surprised when he smacked into the wall.

Dean could hear fighting again down in the stairwell even as he was struggling, himself, against Jimmy's powers. He couldn't quite decide if being distracted by and worried about Cas was a benefit or not. It was at least giving him the willpower to fight the bastard's psychic strength. He glared at the son of a bitch while he tightened his hand a la Darth Vader.

Seriously, why did they  _all_  resort to strangulation?

And then there was gunfire and Jimmy was sent flying backward and Dean could breathe. The hunter only barely landed on his feet as he hit the ground and saw Cas looking not only okay but pretty damned badass.

Sam was behind him, looking much more worse for the wear than the angel, despite the fact that Dean had seen Cas ricochet off of walls and steps only moments ago. "We need to find the altar," Sam said, raising his rifle and firing behind him. Apparently the creepy Fox sister was in hot pursuit and had done something to Sam's arm, since he had done that shot more or less one handed.

Dean nodded slightly as he rubbed his throat. He was busy glancing around the loft-style apartment and only noticed as he finally spotted the altar that Cas was staring at him. "Bones and the psychic first. You can heal me when we're done. I'll live."

Cas gave him that constipated look again, the one that told him he wasn't pleased. Dean pulled a cloth that was covering what could have been a dresser or table, but he knew better. "There is her skull," Cas said as the fabric skimmed over the various occult items on the top.

"But her bones were missing from her grave. All of them," Sam said through his pain. He was inching toward the psychic, making sure he didn't resurface to cause them new problems.

"I believe they are..." Cas closed his eyes for a moment and then reopened them and pointed toward a set of doors leading to another area of the apartment. "... in there."

Dean was closer and left the altar for Cas to deal with as he threw open the doors to find Jimmy's bedroom. "Oh, that's just nasty." He limped over to the bed and doused it in lighter fluid and salt. It took a few tries to get the flame going, but since Cas seemed to be operating back at full power, Dean didn't for once question that the angel would have his back should either psychic, living or dead, show up. This was how hunts were supposed to be, not having the one person in his merry men who should be invulnerable tossed around like he weighed absolutely nothing.

What he hadn't expected was for Cas to respond not with angelic power, but with the gun Dean had given him. It was like the angel forgot the had mojo and was resorting to human means to off Jimmy Tomorrow when he resurfaced and looked prepared to fight, but more than a little afraid of the creature now standing in his apartment.

When he saw the bastard fly backwards because Cas had got him in his freaking heart, Dean raised his fist in the air at his friend's awesome shot just as he got the fire going in the bedroom.

Sam looked a little shaken, himself. Dean couldn't really say he blamed his brother, since he'd been standing just a few feet away from the guy and Cas wasn't really known for his shooting abilities.

"He's dead," Sam said, checking Jimmy's body.

The angel was nearer to Sam, who honestly looked like he was in more pain than Dean was, so Dean didn't begrudge his brother when the angel pressed his fingers to the tall man's temple. Sam wore an expression of gratitude and relief that they all did when the angel healed them-because Cas always went above and beyond the most recent injury to minor aches and pains and even the normal effects of aging or their lifestyles. If there was ever a time Dean might think, but never, ever utter, the phrase "it made me feel all tingly inside" it would be that moment after Cas finished. It was better than a really good sneeze.

He was moving for the door when he realized it was his turn to be healed. The angel had left Sam's side so that the younger hunter could douse the psychic's body with salt and lighter fluid, just in case.

"Are you sure you've got enough mojo for this?" Dean asked.

"The amulet is off. I am 'back at eleven,'" Cas said, and though he obviously still had no idea what he was talking about, it was kind of endearing that he'd just used the reference anyway.

"Then why'd you shoot?" Dean asked.

"I-" It was pretty obvious that even Cas didn't quite have the answer to that one. "I just reacted."

Dean felt Cas's hand press against the wound from the bullet, and after the initial sting faded, he found the pain gone and bleeding stopped. He didn't understand why the angel had done so when a touch of his fingers had always been good enough in the past, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he was too busy checking Cas for any sign of injury, just as the angel was doing for him.

"Not to interrupt a moment, guys, but this place is on fire," Sam said in a tone worthy of Dean himself as he headed for the door.

Cas offered Dean a sheepish look and a half smirk, and the hunter could feel something sparking under the surface of that look, like knowing that just inside the next room was a massive electrical conductor that was making your hair stand on end even through the door. Unfortunately, Dean couldn't focus on that. Not because he was trying to keep his mind on the hunt or on their escape, or even because he was trapped in a state of denial about what this was that was going on between them. The image of Cas richocheting down the stairwell wouldn't stop cycling through his mind on an endless loop.

It made him sick and it made him angry. And since the asshole who caused it was dead, thanks to Cas and his gun, it would take all the willpower he had not to lash out at the only people left.


	41. Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean lashes out, forcing some discussion. And then... no discussion.

" _Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet." Plato_

Sam was generally good at reading his brother, but at the moment, he was at a loss. He knew Dean was conflicted and angry and everything that went with it, but Sam didn't know quite what to say or do at that moment or if he could even place the source of all this. And if he was at a loss, Cas was completely and utterly confused by the whole thing. Worse yet, he didn't understand that there were just times when it was better to leave well enough alone.

"The hunt went well," Cas said, sounding as baffled as Sam expected he would. "That should be worth celebrating."

"You nearly got killed," Dean said.

"And you were shot, and Sam's shoulder was viciously pulled out of socket. It seems like a normal hunt, or am I wrong?"

"You don't usually black out or bounce down a flight of stairs like a ragdoll. I think the next time we have a hunt where the baddie can figure out what you are by sensing it or reading your mind, you'll have to stay at home. The necklace is more trouble than it is worth."

"It protected me from expiring, provided me cover while I needed it, and allowed my Grace to heal myself when I was in danger," Cas said from the back seat, and Sam was turned just enough to catch the glare on the angel's face as a set of passing headlights lit it up. "You are right. What was I  _thinking_  believing it to be useful?"

"Shoulda never taught you sarcasm," Dean snapped back.

"It was inevitable, considering it is at least a third of what comes out of your mouth," Cas retorted.

"Have you actually calculated that, or is it a guestimate?" Dean asked, and Sam was increasingly grateful that the bed and breakfast was in sight. The tension between the two was getting stifling, and he knew it was just a matter of time before the whole thing went into "fuck or fight" mode. Hell, with those two it could easily end up as both, even if he was still 99% sure that they hadn't done anything yet.

"I could give you an accurate calculation, but I realize you're being facetious, as well as obstinate."

"The big words ain't impressing anyone," Dean said, pulling the car into the double-wide driveway. The angel released a frustrated half-sigh-half-groan as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut. "Be careful with my Baby."

"Where is this anger coming from?" Cas asked, voice exasperated and hands out at his sides. Someone other than Cas would have been making far wilder gestures as Sam and Dean got out of the Impala. "On any other occasion, this hunt would be reason to celebrate. The psychic and the ghost are gone and we are all returning home no worse than we left." He jerked at the leather cord around his neck, and though he didn't take the Hand of Fatima off, the cord looked a little strained by Cas's irritated movement. "Why do you have such problems with this?"

"Because I can't keep worrying about whether or not you're going to get killed. I've got enough people I have to protect as it is. You aren't supposed to be one of them."

Sam was debating between shuffling back to the B&B and staying here to stop a potential fight. He opted for moving down toward the hood of the car, near the front porch. It put him in a safe position to do either.

"You don't have to. You  _didn't_  have to," Cas said, his words edged with anger and a little trepidation. Sam knew what Dean had said could be taken multiple ways. They very nearly sounded like he was trying to push Cas away, but to anyone who knew him, they knew that having him admit he cared enough to want to protect someonelike that was damned near a declaration of love, familial love at least. And for Dean, that was probably a hell of a lot stronger than the romantic brand.

He watched his brother stare at Cas for a solid ten seconds before he slumped against the side of the car. With the fight, apparently, leaving Dean, Sam realized that that only left one option for those two, and he didn't want to be around to see it, even if it was about damned time. He slowly moved his way to the house, trying to do so unnoticed. It was an easier task than he'd assumed it would be, but then again, Dean and Cas had their attention focused elsewhere.

#

"I didn't know that," Dean said. "I thought you might be harder to kill, but I still thought he could kill you." And he could still remember the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought. "I didn't know if I could help, if Sam was going to die too, if I'd have to make a choice who I could-or would-save." He closed his eyes and sighed. Talking about this was too difficult and delved way too far into just how messed up his head was. How do you explain the sort of triage his own mind conducted on each hunt and at every sign of danger.

It went without saying that Dean was at the bottom of his own list. His safety mattered less than others. It was a lesson learned early and repeatedly.

Johnny ranked first now, because he was a baby and there was no chance he could defend himself, and he was only in danger because he was connected to Dean. Because that little boy with his trusting eyes and unadulterated love was loved by his father just as much in return, Sam was second for the first time in his entire existence, but Dean knew he couldn't live much of a life without his brother, even if he knew he'd force himself to soldier on for his son's sake. It was because he loved him, too. Next was Bobby because he loved the grumpy bastard and wanted to see him old enough to go into the old hunter's home, but he could take care of himself, and if it came to it, he'd already had decades on Sam.

Next came whoever needed saving, obviously. Though he hated to admit it, but he  _would_  admit it, he'd trade them in for a member of his family every time.

Normally, Cas was there, after the people he was there to rescue because he was an angel, because most of the time he was a badass that wasn't going down without a fight. Sometimes, he was right up there with Bobby, vying for that spot when the danger was real enough to kill him, like it had been tonight. But tonight, Dean had gotten just a flash of terror and the realization that he didn't think he could survive without the angel, either, and the thought of trying to do it made him stomach churn.

"Then it was not so different for you than it is for me when you are in danger," Cas said, quietly, leaning against the driver's door, not quite touching Dean, but close enough that he could feel the heat from the angel's body. "Except that  _you_  now know that the amulet will stop working if I am injured. You will  _always_  be human."

They were treading dangerously close to a Lifetime moment here, and everything in Dean recoiled at the thought. There had to be a way to say or do this that didn't make him feel like he had to turn in his man card. "You gotta know me well enough to know that isn't going to be enough to ease my mind. I just didn't see it coming that I'd have to keep adding to the list of people I'd risk my neck for. It was pretty easy when it was just Dad and Sam." He glanced over at Cas to find those big blue eyes watching him thoughtfully. He just seemed to be listening, even though Dean had stopped talking and was simply trying to process how he was going to deal with this.

"It probably makes no sense," Dean said. Because only he'd treat having more people to care about like a death sentence, or worse.

"I was created to be willing to take a risk for anyone if I were given the order, and of course, I was to place self-preservation out of my mind when necessary. So it  _is_  difficult for me to understand because I now prioritize. It isn't a big list, just my closest brothers, Sam, Bobby, and Johnny, of course." Dean smirked at how the angel had said that, like the boy should have been the most obvious one on the list and he was including him just to be thorough. "And you."

If anyone asked him later, and people would, because that was the nature of having a family like his and fangirls like the one the book series did, what it was that made him do what he did next, he'd have said it was two things: (1) the nervous pause that Cas took before saying those last two words and (2) that he used the same serious, matter-of-fact tone that he had used to include their son. Knowing that Cas was worried about how Dean would react, but not denying the fact that he would risk his life for him anyway. Knowing that someone else out in the world was willing to risk himself for Dean, despite being well aware of all of the man's failings and sins. Those few moments told the hunter so much.

Not that Dean would tell anyone, save for Cas if he asked, or Johnny if he wanted to know out of some kind of curiosity years down the road.

Dean grabbed the back of Cas's head and pulled him close. As his own eyes were closing, he saw the angel's were widening in response. And maybe if he wasn't so damned sure that Cas felt something for him, it would have been enough to make the hunter pull back. But he was sure, which was why he didn't bother to hesitate to do something that he knew would change everything and pressed his lips to the angel's. When he got a few moments of no reaction, Dean began to worry and started to move away.

That sparked something in Cas, apparently, as his hand found Dean's hair and his mouth began to respond in kind. It was different kissing the angel, not in the chapped, full lips or the stubble on his cheeks and around his mouth that really didn't bother Dean at all. It was the inexperience but desperate eagerness to please that Dean hadn't experienced since he was in middle school. Not just Cas's, either. The hunter had a case of nerves at that moment that threatened to undo him right there if he wasn't careful.

He knew Cas's experience in this was limited, and he wanted to go the more scenic route, unlike his usual conquests which were more like a bullet train than anything. He slowly drew the angel's bottom lip between his own, noting the angel tasted like nothing he'd really experienced before. The closest comparison was to the smell just before a summer rain. There was no salty tinge as Dean's lips moved from the angel's mouth to his jaw-and God, the warm breath against Dean's ear and sound of heavy puffs of air leaving Cas's parted lips was sexy as fuck. There wasn't a chemical mix of fruit or flowers that clung to Dean's tongue as it took a tentative swipe at the angel's neck, beneath the stubble. He moved back to the angel's lips, which held no trace of cold, biting mint, just the taste of rain. Of Cas.

The second kiss lasted a bit longer, both taking their time to calm those first nervous moments and just move their mouths languidly, to tentatively swipe their tongues across lips, but not enter. This was an opportunity to simply explore. It had been a very, very long time since Dean had kissed anyone like this. And even then, it had been different.

He moved his head back and watched as Cas's followed him. The noise, not quite a mewl or a whimper, but close enough, that left the angel's lips went straight to areas below the man's belt. He could only offer a small smile as his friend searched his face as though to verify that Dean hadn't changed his mind. The kiss had been soft, slow and fairly short, and he'd wanted it that way. When it came to anything that left him feeling this vulnerable, he was much more a "testing the waters" type than "jump right in." If he did anything at all, that was.

"How long?" Dean asked, surprised he was as breathless as Cas looked in that moment. He couldn't even completely finish the question.

"Months," Cas said. "Maybe years and I was not aware." He kept leaning forward as though wanting to go back to kissing yet pulling back, considering a question of his own. The question finally won out. "I had assumed you only had interest in women."

"Wouldn't matter," Dean said, resting his forehead against the angel's. "I just want you."

#

For Castiel, those words were like a floodgate had been opened. He found himself slamming Dean back against the Impala's windows hard enough that a grunt of surprise escaped the hunter's lips and the Impala let out a creak of glass and metal in protest.

"Careful with my Baby," Dean said for the second time that night before his words were swallowed up by Castiel's mouth. His extremely limited experience with kissing had been pleasant, but it had only reinforced his belief that it was a messy process that made no sense. It served no real purpose, not like fornication for reproduction. Prior to meeting Dean, there was no way anyone would have been able to convince him that this was not only a means to pleasure but cementing an emotional connection.

And no one could have described just how good this made him feel or how much he just wanted to taste. His hand that wasn't resting at the back of Dean's head reached up to yank at the amulet and pull it off. He wanted this feeling to be  _his_ , not the byproduct of some magical item.

The tastes, the sensations, they changed a bit, became more defined in some areas and more fuzzy in others, but the overall feeling of rightness he hadn't felt since he'd been given orders to rescue this same man from Hell was still there. The closest he had ever felt to this exhilarating experience was when he had soared over the newly created Earth, wings stretched out and reflecting the sun.

Yet it had never felt as amazing as the feeling of Dean's tongue moving against his, dull fingernails rubbing at his scalp, a strong, calloused hand pressed firmly between his shoulderblades. His own left hand was at the base of Dean's skull, its palm tickled by the shortly shorn hair there with each movement of the hunter's head. His other hand slotted itself in the place he had once grabbed this man's soul and retrieved him from hell. That touch caused Dean to growl into Castiel's mouth and his right hand to slide down until it stopped just above the angel's behind.

It was far from the coordinated ballet of mouths and hands and tongues that appeared so often on television shows. He was fairly sure he bit Dean's tongue at least once, and they couldn't seem to keep from bumping noses as they moved their heads. But it was real.

He didn't really want to stop kissing Dean's mouth, but he did want to imitate what the hunter had done to him moments before, maybe rattle him in the same way that Castiel still was, electrified and wrecked, but oh so pleased. He peppered kisses along Dean's jaw and down his neck and smiled at the hum of pleasure he got in response. He knew Dean, inside and out, but he hadn't taken the time while recreating him to really pay attention to all of the spots that brought him the most pleasure. He was going to take his time to learn them now.

Behind his right earlobe was one of them, apparently, if the soft moan was anything to go by, and Castiel thought it probably was. "Cas," Dean breathed out. It was hardly more than a whisper, but it was rough and sounded almost as though the angel had forcefully drug the word from the hunter's lips across broken glass.

He moved to the muscle connecting Dean's neck and shoulder and began kissing, nibbling. He'd watched enough human interaction over the years to understand what they did, if he had never previously comprehended why they did it. He knew why  _he_  was doing it. He wanted to hear Dean's wrecked voice say his name that way again. It was so much better than his fantasies could supply, when they alternated between the hunter using that affectionate name he gave the angel and Castiel's proper name. Hearing it aloud, he much preferred the former.

Dean said it again, and it sounded the same as before, but with more of his deep voice than hissing whisper. And then the hunter had a hold of his arms and was pushing him away, laughing at the bewildered expression the angel was certain was plastered across his face.

"Public street, Cas. There's a limit to how much you can get away with under decency laws. Trust me."

The angel frowned. He didn't want to stop and he didn't want to think about why Dean was so familiar with the decency laws.

"Besides," Dean said, pointing to the nearest window, "we have an audience." Castiel saw Sam smirking at them both as he stood a few feet behind Missouri, who was looking rather smug.

#

"Your brother has more willpower than I suspected he would," Missouri said as she closed the curtains and the two outside were headed back into the house. "After all this time of denial and pushing it away, I wouldn't have thought he'd manage to remember they were in a public place until someone caught them going at one another in the backseat of that Impala."

Sam laughed. "And would you have still been snooping from the window?"

He got a glare for it and a smack on the arm. "Don't you get smart with me. A little healthy curiosity for your brother's well-being is hardly a crime."

"No, but voyeurism has to be," Sam said, moving a few steps out of her reach as he did.

When the door opened and Dean and Cas came through it, they both looked like they had been having one hell of a make-out session, but there was no embarrassment on their faces. "Did you two get enough of an eyeful? Because we're not really looking to put on a repeat performance tonight."

"I have a sneaking suspicion I'll get to see the show on tour," Sam said with a laugh. He grabbed both his brother and Cas and gave them the biggest bear hug he could manage. "I'm happy for you both. Just don't forget we share a wall. Here  _and_  at Bobby's."

"Just do us the same when you've got Emma over," Dean said.

Sam could see Cas looking at Dean with anticipation. While there was no denying they were both happy, Cas looked a little like a horny teenager getting ready for his first trip around the bases. Sam was pretty sure the moment those two were alone, the angel might pounce his brother. And by the look on Dean's face, he wasn't going to be complaining. "I'm going to get a couple hours' sleep. See you two in the morning."

He wished them the best of luck as they started this, and knew that if either of them screwed it up, he'd kill the one who did. Because that was his best friend and his brother, and he was pretty damned protective of them both.

#

"Maybe we should get some sleep, as well," Cas said, but the look he was giving Dean said he wanted to do anything but sleep. He turned his attention to Missouri and thanked her for watching Johnny while they had been hunting.

"Your boy's a beautiful little thing. I'm happy to do it."

Cas started in the direction of their room, looking back at Dean. "Are you coming to bed?" he asked, looking ruffled and thoroughly kissed, and way too tempting.

"Keep things going well, and you'll be hearing that a lot more often," Missouri said.

Dean leaned down and gave the woman a quick peck on the cheek, like he might have for his mother or Ellen once upon a time. "Thanks for being a busybody."

The swat on the ass as she sent him to his room was a little bit of a surprise. She really was going to have to make up her mind whether she wanted to flirt or play mother figure, because doing bits of both was seriously messing with Dean's head.

Still, he decided to take her advice and follow the angel into the bedroom they shared, and all thoughts, messed up or otherwise, of Missouri were put out of his mind when Cas jumped him the moment the latch clicked on the door to their room. He was going full pizza man on Dean, and surprisingly, the hunter wasn't complaining. Cas was strong enough, even with the amulet, to slam him into the wall with the force he had, and that made for a very clear reminder that Dean was making out with someone who was definitely not female and, in fact, ridiculously stronger than the hunter.

He was surprisingly okay with that.

Cas was getting more comfortable with this whole making out thing, and his fingers were now skimming beneath Dean's shirt, sliding against the skin beneath in a way that damned near made the hunter shiver. His own hands were tangled in that permanent bedhead hair and gripped perhaps too tightly, but there was no complaint from the angel. That was one benefit of that superhuman strength.

Dean broke from the angel's full lips to move back to his neck, because he wanted to hear him panting Dean's name as he kissed that warm skin. He wanted to hear a lot more of that, because  _nothing_  he had dreamed over the last few weeks came close to that. When Cas finally did let out a soft moan of the man's name, while the hunter was busy drawing warm skin just above a sharp collarbone between his lips, it was perhaps the most reverent and awestruck Dean had heard his friend sound, save for speaking about his Father or heaven. Cas's fingertips skimmed beneath the waistband of Dean's jeans.

"God, Cas," Dean muttered, almost as reverently as the angel had uttered his name.

"Please don't do that, Dean," he said. Blue eyes met green, and it took a second for the hunter to realize what faux pas he had just committed.

"Sorry," he said just a little sheepishly. He wouldn't want the angel accidentally letting the name "John" slip, either.

"I understand, just... try not to."

"Mood killer, right?" Dean asked, swiping his tongue over his own swollen bottom lip.

Cas was looking at him like famine was in the next room and Dean was a burger. "Not as much as I thought it would be," he said, before pushing the hunter against the wall again.

Unfortunately for them both, they forgot the crib. At least, they forgot until Dean was roughly slammed against the end of it and Johnny was making tiny sobbing noises for having been so rudely interrupted. Cas pressed his forehead to Dean's shoulder and let out a frustrated groan. All the hunter could do was laugh.

"The joys of parenthood," he said, pressing a kiss to the angel's temple as he disentangled himself from wiry arms.

"I think you misunderstand the meaning of joy," Cas said as Dean pulled their son from the crib.

When Johnny let out a happy sigh and said their names, Dean shook his head. "No misunderstanding at all." He saw that through his disappointment, the angel was smiling, too. "Maybe it's not a bad idea if we let things cool a little anyway. You're new to this, but you were going from zero to sixty in point two seconds."

Cas paused a moment and furrowed his brow. "That's a car reference." Dean grinned at the fact that the angel was at least slightly less inept than he used to be. "You are saying I was going too quickly?"

"I think we might have been headed there, and I don't really have the supplies handy." The angel nodded in understanding. "Why don't you get changed and I'll see if I can get him back to sleep?"

Cas grabbed his suitcase and pulled out his pajama pants and T-shirt. He hesitated for a moment, since just stripping down in front of one another since they had begun thinking of one another as more than friends—shower incident excluded—was new territory for them. Thankfully, Cas did not possess the same sort of self consciousness that many humans did, and quickly shed the shirt he'd been wearing and began unfastening his pants.

Dean's brains above the waist and below were conflicted as hell he watched Cas give him a look, not necessarily a "come hither" expression, but it had the same effect on the hunter. Cas was all lean lines and pale skin. As the angel's back was turned to the hunter, he tried to imagine those bright blue-white wings sprouting from his back or even casting shadows on the wall behind him.

The jeans went, but the boxer briefs stayed as Cas kicked his clothes to the side. Tomorrow morning, he might think to pick them up, or Dean would, but they lay in a pile with his shirt on the floor. Cas had managed to mojo them clean, along with Dean's and Sam's clothing, but clean or dirty, when something left the angel's body, it ended up in a heap.

Dean had to admit that he was kind of grateful Cas had switched to the form-hugging underwear, giving him enough of an idea of what was beneath, but what was perhaps the most tempting to the man was the sight of those hipbones that peeked out of the top of the elastic waistband. They created these distinctive ridges below the angel's stomach, on either side of the dusting of dark hair beneath the angel's belly button. Dean's mind was going to images of tracing their outline with his tongue, because while Cas  _had_  been going fast, it didn't mean Dean hadn't been happily along for the ride.

Then a small pair of arms tightened around his neck and there was a hum of "Dada."

The hunter sighed and whispered in Johnny's ear, "You really need a less sexy..." He looked at Cas at that. "We should figure out what to call you. Maybe Papa or—"

"Many cultures use Tata or Tad for a father figure," Cas said, interrupting him before he could suggest another name. It spoke to just how much the angel liked the title that Johnny had given him that he insisted on keeping it, rather than playing the same old tune that Dean was Johnny's father. Normally, Cas was quick to point that out whenever someone tried to give him parental credit. Instead, the angel immediately protected the name he'd, apparently, grown to love.

"Well, then, Johnny, you need a Tad who is a little less hot," he said, giving Cas a grin. "I'm sure it isn't a problem in other countries, but the first time he has to do a card for you in school, people will think he's writing about boobs."

Cas walked over to the bed and began tossing the various pillows onto the floor as haphazardly as his clothes. "While I might argue he pronounces the words very differently..." He smiled as happy as Dean had ever seen him. "I am proud to be his Tad."

"Darned right. Who wouldn't be? Johnny's friggin' awesome." Johnny half-heartedly lifted his head and looked at Dean with a small quirk of his lips, like he usually did when he heard his name. "Cas, go ahead and get into bed. He's a little clingy right now, so I'll just give him to you while I change into my Pjs."

The angel did as instructed, and Johnny was just as happy to be in his arms as he had been in Dean's. The boy quickly snuggled close and threw his left arm across Cas's chest.

#

Castiel was feeling overwhelmed. If he was prone to dreaming, he would think he was in one at that moment. It didn't seem possible that all at once he would get everything he hadn't even known he wanted. He had a  _son_  curling up next to him and drifting more deeply into sleep and a... lover-partner-boyfriend? He watched as Dean put on a pair of cotton pants and a black T-shirt.

He had watched as the hunter changed clothes, admiring an admittedly attractive form that Castiel knew inside and out. And while there had been no ulterior motive on the angel's part when he had marked Dean's arm, seared his soul so that the scar would never completely fade, he had to admit to finding that brand alluring.

"Like what you see?" Dean asked light-heartedly.

"Yes," Castiel said, and there must have been something about his answer that made Dean think twice as he began to climb into bed with him. He seemed surprised by the angel's bluntness, though why, Castiel couldn't be sure. He had been this way from the time they had met. "But you and Johnny have reminded me that this is not the time."

"But we have plenty of it. Time, I mean." Dean settled into the bed and tried to slot his arm and legs in positions that would bring him close to their son and the angel. It took several attempts and he didn't look entirely pleased with the end result. "Why am I so good at doing this asleep and so crappy at it when I'm awake?"

Castiel helped Dean by moving the hunter's arm so that it draped over Johnny's legs and across the angel's waist. "That should suffice," he said.

There was a quirk of lips before Dean's were on his again, quick this time. "'Night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

#

Bobby hoped to hell the boys hadn't gotten themselves into trouble fighting the psychic and the psychic ghost, but when his phone rang at about midnight, he anticipated the worst.

"Talk to me, Sam," he said when he saw the name on the caller ID. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, salted and burned the psychics," Sam's voice came through the speaker on the ancient phone that had cost Bobby all of a couple bucks when he'd bought it.

"Then you'd better have a damned good reason for calling me at this time of night."

"I know you're not asleep right now," Sam said, "but there is a good reason. Earth-shattering reason." There was a long pause.

" _Well_?"

"They finally got their heads out of their asses."

"You're serious?" Bobby asked, in disbelief because these two were some of the most stubborn people he'd ever met, but hopeful that the man who'd become like a son to him was finally carving out that bit of happiness for himself.

"I caught them trying to Hoover one another's faces off. Yeah. I'm sure."

Bobby chuckled. "Thanks for the update, Sam. Make sure they don't screw it up before you get back here."

"I'll do my best. See you in a couple days."

Bobby told him goodbye and set the phone back on the bedside table.

"Everything okay?" Jody asked as she wrapped her arm around him. He turned to face her, having to fight her overstuffed comforter to get a good look at her face.

"Dean and Cas aren't hopeless idjits after all."

"Good for them," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Any chance we can pick up where we left off?"


	42. Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

" _For fools rush in where angels fear to tread."_

_Alexander Pope_

Phoenix, Arizona, in the middle of summer was sweltering and dry, and it reminded Meg far too much of Hell for her liking. The happy little neighborhood, full of upper middle class yuppies, where she found herself looking for the Jacksons was not helping matters any. Every time she stopped to fan herself off with a real estate guide she had grabbed from a free box just for that purpose, one person or another would tell her that she should be "glad it's not the east coast because then you have the humidity, too."

Personally, she felt that was a bit like saying be glad you're in the upper levels of hell where your skin is only flayed off your body. If you end up in the lower levels, they might boil you alive or cut you into tiny pieces. Hell was hell, and hot was hot.

As soon as she got within a hundred yards of the place, she knew there were angels nearby. Some demons ignored it, humans too, but it wasn't possible to be around that many of the things and not sense them. Humans probably felt calmed or some shit like that in the angels' presence, but it just made Meg's skin crawl.

The man walking a dog in front of the house stopped and looked around suspiciously, and there was very little doubt that he was feeling the same way by her presence on the street.

Always one for self-preservation, she chose to fall back to the rest of her team and their so-called leader. They were waiting for her outside a gas station not far from the Jackson's home. Apparently they didn't trust her enough to let Bella go with her and they assumed that she gave a shit about Bella and wouldn't want to see her hurt if she failed to report back. They were right on the first assumption, not so much on the second.

"What did you find?" Raoul, their self-appointed leader, asked.

"Definitely an angel keeping guard," she said. "As soon as I hit his radar, he was looking for me, and you just have to trust that I know enough about them to recognize one when I spot it." She wasn't going to mention that she had a sneaking supsicion that there were at least a dozen angels in the vicinity, a couple of real power houses, too, or that she was almost certain the house was empty. The cars had been gone from the driveway, and she could see bare spots on the walls of the living room where family photos had once been. That might have been less weird if it weren't for the fact that the whole cul de sac had been that way. The angels knew they were coming and they had cleared the battlefield.

It was nice to see that this kinder, gentler administration wasn't going to let thousands of innocents be slaughtered just because they were unfortunate enough to get in the way. Almost made Meg feel bad that she wanted to unleash the apocolypse again.

She had wanted information and support from Uriel and Raphael, but if she used these idiots as cannon fodder, she could get her information without having to wait until her informant was old enough to talk.

"Just the one?"

"All I could tell," she said. "He may be part of the regular detail, someone who keeps an eye on the kids." Raoul looked at him suspiciously, and Meg seriously wished he wasn't such a bastard. A guy that smart could get Meg's borrowed blood flowing, but when it came to S&M, she was an S, not an M.

He gave her a look she imagined he must have given his victims when he was part of the early inquisition in France. He wanted more information, and God help her if she didn't have it. Unfortunately for him, she didn't back down that easily.

"I'm not an angel detector, but all I saw was one angel. Sorry about that." She put a hand on her hip and shifted her weight as she waited for the guy to make a decision.

"If he realized you were there," Raoul said as he began weapons and a stolen angel blade into his belt, "We don't have much time to get them." Then he smiled. "But, of course, you're going in first."

"Of course," she said with a roll of her eyes. "And Bella?"

"Stays with some of the boys," Raoul said. There was something in the way he said it that made Meg wince. Better Bella than her.

#

Castiel felt warm and whole for the first time since his father had left, but in an entirely different manner. Johnny was asleep at his side, with his limbs spread out as to take up as much space as possible between his parents—and there was that warm, whole feeling again, just at the thought of that word. The baby's lips were parted and he was drooling slightly, not unlike his father, who was turned on his side, his fist beneath his right cheek.

Looking at the moist, pink lips, Castiel found himself grinning. He could hardly believe that last night he had kissed and tasted that mouth. He'd felt the man's warm hands on his neck, in his hair, and though the night hadn't ended the way it might had Johnny not been in the room, the angel felt quite content. Dean hadn't made any grand sweeping gestures to solidify that they were together, but he did give Cas a name for Johnny to call him, one that signified that he was also the boy's father and would have a place in their lives for some time.

He caught himself staring rather unabashedly at the man's face opposite his own. There were lines there that faded but didn't disappear entirely as he slept. Still, it made him look younger and considerably more at ease. There were so many times that Castiel wished he had wiped Dean's memory of hell, just to give him a little more peace. He could never ease the man's mind entirely of all his troubles. With the weight of all of his years as a hunter and his upbringing, there was only so much peace Castiel could give him by modifying his memories without losing the parts that made Dean Dean.

He watched as one freckled eyelid opened and a green eye looked at him half-amused, half-irritated. "You're doing that creepy staring thing again."

"I apologize." He leaned forward and placed a small kiss to Dean's lips, just to remind himself that he hadn't imagined last night. That he had permission to do so. When they parted, they were both smiling.

"Gotta say, there are worse ways to wake up," Dean said. "Got my son and my... partner?" There was a question to that, as though he wanted to be sure Castiel approved of that word. The angel offered a nod in return to show that the name was more than suitable. "Partner here." He looked down at Johnny and chuckled. "Though he's turning into a bed hog."

"He is accustomed to sleeping alone most nights," Castiel said. "And I have seen you dominate an entire queen bed when alone."

"But put someone else in it, and I'm up against them within seconds of falling asleep," Dean said, still sounding embarrassed by his habit.

"I am hardly complaining." Castiel moved his hand to Dean's bicep, slowly massaging the muscle there. It was silly, he thought, how much he wanted to touch the hunter now that he knew he wouldn't be turned away. Angels weren't especially tactile creatures, but from the moment he found himself in a vessel, Castiel had been embracing the various human senses. And he had been invading Dean's privacy. It only made sense that the two predelictions would converge. "Why did you choose partner, out of curiosity? There are a number of names that couples call one another."

"Didn't think I could get 'boyfriend' out with a straight face. Sounds too much like we're teenagers. And lover sounds like something out of a chick novel." Dean let out an involuntary yawn. "'Sides, partner sounds kinda long term."

"And that makes it particularly appropriate," Castiel said, knowing that the hunter had a lot of insecurities about people leaving him. That seemed the wisest remark he could make to adress them without doing so directly.

Dean began to sniff the air, looking a bit like a hound dog as he did. "I think I smell sausage. Whadya say to breakfast?"

"I've never held a conversation with it, though I imagine 'hello' would be a good start."

At first, the hunter rolled his eyes. "Dude I didn't—" He stopped when he saw the smirk on Castiel's face. "You were joking. You  _actually_  just made a joke." And he laughed so hard he actually had to grab his side.

The angel knew that when talking of the glory of God's creation, no one could possibly have had in mind, something as seemingly simple as waking up in a bed with Dean Winchester, but Castiel didn't know if there were many things much better.

#

Raoul didn't trust Meg. He didn't like that she was older than him, didn't like that she was the daughter of a fallen angel who just so happened to be one of Lucifer's top lieutenants in the first war, didn't like that she was so willing to turn to the enemy if the situation required it, and he didn't like that she seemed to have a plan already in place that wasn't the same one he was following.

Unfortunately, he also knew that what she had told him so far about Raphael and Uriel was good intel, and if they could get those kids now, it would be a boon for their side and a little reminder that they had merely been regrouping, not down for the count.

He knew that Meg had a grander vision, one where Lucifer was once again free. During the early days of their teaming up, she had tried to convince Raoul that the best way to rally the troops was to get their Lord free, but there wasn't even the slightest glimmer that that was possible. And, truthfully, he wanted to do as much as possible before they set the former archangel free once again. Lucifer had already proven he had great distaste for humans, and had no love for the ones who had been corrupted in his name.

This time around, they needed to prove themselves worthy. Or at least useful.

Yet the alternative was better than hell with Crowley in charge. Torture happened, but it was not at the level it had been under Lilith. The average soul was no longer forced to endure pain, and there was very little reward for being cruel and capable of torturing victims. A whole new lot of demons were being produced, these ones slimier and sleezier than their predecessors, but without the viciousness that Raoul, personally, felt was a necessity in a demon.

Crowley was setting them up to fail against the angels when the Apocalypse came once again. It proved that either one of two scenarios were true, both of which gave Raoul no reason to place his faith in the new King of Hell. Either Crowley was stupid and wasn't anticipating the battle against heaven, so he was willing to sacrifice defensive power for the sake of cultivating toadies. Or, he was working with an angel again.

He could see Meg getting antsy as they got closer to the house, saw her moving toward the center of the cul de sac. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"They've cleared the area of humans," she said, sounding like this was news to her. "They prepared more quickly than I thought they would." She was trying to look genuine and distraught, which was enough of a clue to Raoul to tell him that she had known better and expected this. Meg never looked distraught about  _anything_. Even when her father had been killed, she had simply taken up the mantle as leader and started to fight.

"What good does it do you to have hell's army decimated?" he hissed as he drew his angel blade and prepared for the onslaught of angels that had to be the only explanation for his borrowed skin crawling.

"An army is no good without a single focus," she said. "Different groups, different missions... none of it cohesive." She pulled out an angel blade of her own and braced herself as the man who had been walking his dog charged at her. Others swarmed from the nearby homes. They were going to be outnumbered and Meg had already inched herself toward the center of the circular spot of asphalt. And that was when Raoul realized just why she had been inching herself in that direction. There was a manhole cover that she was already pulling open as the chaos of battle began.

She could have dropped in at any time, but she didn't. She was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. The man walking the dog charged at her and she had her angel blade at the ready, though the angel wearing the man with the poodle couldn't possibly have seen it. The two began fighting just as Raoul found himself slammed from behind by a blond man wearing an oddly low-cut T-shirt.

"It's a real shame that you're not going to be able to send the message that these stupid little rebellions need to stop," he said in a British accent. He hissed as Raoul nicked him with the angel blade, but Raoul realized just how much the things hurt as it cut deep into his stomach. It was a shame they worked on damned near everything.

#

Sam had expected a shift in the dynamic as sudden as what he had witnessed-while rebuking Missouri's snooping-the night before. And there was a change, but it was far more subtle than he'd thought after that display, yet less so than he'd expected from Dean, who was all for a slap on the back, a hug if you needed it or just came back from the dead, but rarely offered much more in terms of traditional signs of affection, despite being tactile in so many other ways. Breakfast hadn't been all that different from the day before, with Dean piling new items onto Cas's plate and the angel snagging the hunter's most favorite items before someone else could take them from him.

They both looked unbelievably happy, as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted from their shoulders. There were no stolen kisses, no hand-holding at the table, but there were small touches, most of them initiated by Cas, though not all of them. Cas placed a hand at Dean's elbow to stop him from feeding Johnny, since he'd done it the day before and let his food grow cold. Dean stood to get a fresh pot of coffee and spare the B&B owner a trip, and in asking Cas if he wanted anything, he placed a hand at the back of the angel's neck, fingers lightly rubbing at the edge of his hairline. Despite the fact there was plenty of room at the large table, they both sat so close that their legs seemed to be touching from the thigh down, though Sam hadn't checked under the table to confirm it, afraid of what he might find. When Johnny finished eating and bored of the high chair, Cas handed him to Dean, who was also done his breakfast, but would rest a hand on the hunter's shoulder, lean in, and join him in making faces at the baby. Even once their goal of sending Johnny into uproarious laughter was met, Cas's hand slid down Dean's shoulder and followed the path of his shoulderblade before going back to the angel's plate of food.

The new couple were the same well-oiled machine as before when it came to getting Johnny ready that morning, putting him in a green T-shirt, khaki pants, brown shoes and a brown jacket, "just in case the opera house is air conditioned," according to Cas. But they made little adjustments to one another as well, with Cas smoothing down the collar of Dean's button-up shirt, and Dean removing the cardboard Cas had left in the collar of his own, then undoing the top buttons so that Cas looked a little more casual. They hadn't color-coordinated, thank God, but they did look like a family.

Going out into the street, Sam had expected to be more or less a third wheel as they made their way to Missouri's show, but as Dean navigated with Johnny's stroller, Cas hung back to talk with Sam.

"I am fairly certain that Bobby will be calling shortly," Cas said. "I do not know if he will be pleased or quite angry when he gets home, perhaps both."

"Why? What did you do?" Sam asked.

"And what do you mean 'gets home?'" Dean questioned, glancing over his shoulder.

"There were a number of remarkable items in the shop, and it seemed a shame to let them burn, so I sent them to Bobby's garage so that they would be under cover but out of the way. However, I believe he will have difficulty putting anything in the garage with the car Dean is fixing up already taking up half the space."

"Damned Valiant," Dean said. He'd had a love-hate relationship with that car from the time it was brought into the shop. Though he was able to appreciate the lines of the 1960 car and the money that came with it, working on an odd V6 engine after years of dealing with trucks and muscle cars apparently made Dean feel dirty. But the car had to stay original, since it was the first car the woman had owned, and her husband was determined to bring it back to shape. That meant no upgrades that would pacify Dean's ego.

"I think it's quite a nice car," Cas said. Sam had no opinion, so he kept quiet. "It's kind of … cool." He looked to Sam, as though asking if he'd used the word correctly.

"It's weird-looking and definitely  _not_  a cool car." Dean told him, with the same tone he had when he was teaching the angel something about pop culture that he felt Cas absolutely needed to know. "But again, Cas, what do you mean Bobby's not home."

"He's at Sheriff Mills' home. When he wasn't at home to tell me where to put the items, I searched for him and found him there." Cas adjusted the backpack that served as Johnny's diaper bag. "I believe I caught them mid-"

Both brothers stopped him from finishing that sentence. "Nobody wants to hear that, dude," Dean said.

"I was going to say dinner, though I assume since he spent the night, their schedule also included coitus."

Dean and Sam both shuddered, groaned and bitched at the angel for having put that image into their heads.

"Hey Cas, on that list of mood killers, Bobby doing the nasty, right up there with me saying 'Oh God,'" Dean explained, and Sam was absolutely certain he was going to be scarred for life just from this one conversation alone.

"What did you find in there?" Sam asked, realizing the items had to be good for the angel to risk pulling them out of a burning building.

And from that point on, they were lost in a world of, to use Dean's term, "geekery." Sam pointed out after Dean said it that he was in the process of explaining to his son the awesomeness of his Chewbaka toy, and why he'd better never see him with a Jar Jar figure.

"Shut up, there are geeky things and then there are classics. Star Wars is a classic." He looked down at Johnny, whose attention was fixed so on Dean that he didn't seem to care that he had to tilt his head all the way up to look at him. "And Han shot first." He pointed down at the boy with a serious face.

"I guess you'll be breaking out the VHS so he can see the original version."

"Darned right I will," Dean said, with an impressive avoidance of swearing. "Did it for Cas, I'll do it for Johnny."

Sam looked at Cas, who was frowning. "Didn't you like it?"

"It was very intriguing, particularly given the similarities between Luke Skywalker and Han Solo with you and your brother." Sam wanted to argue, since Han was much cooler than Luke, but considering the force and the whole psychic thing, he knew it was a losing battle. "I just wonder if that makes me Princess Leia or Chewbaka by comparison."

The brothers barked in laughter, with Dean nearly running into a woman because he was chortling so hard he had tears coming to his eyes. Cas didn't find it quite so amusing, but Johnny was laughing because obviously something was funny.

#

Metatron considered himself a brain, rather than a fighter, and though he had seen Balthazar fight many times over the millennia, he labeled him as more a lover, particularly in the last century. So when they found themselves protecting the house where Raphael and Uriel had lived until just hours ago, preparing to decimate the demons before word could get out that former angels were having their Grace substituted with a soul and turned human, he hadn't been pleased.

The angels there didn't all realize who they were protecting, but they realized that the two boys were special somehow, that the Counsel and God had given these orders, and they were ready to fight to the death if need be. Others were uncertain, thanks to the seed of doubt that Castiel had imbedded in their minds over the last few years.

There had to be some explanation for those angels who had developed free will earlier than anticipated, largely to explain that Gabriel was busy taking the children to a safehouse in Germany under the watch of Zadekiel, who was reluctant to be back in heaven's service after trying so hard to escape. She had ultimately wanted to see her brothers protected and was inspired by Heaven finally embracing the forgiveness she had been championing for centuries. It had been enough to ease their minds, though it was obvious that this new breed of angels Castiel had created were not as mindless as they had once been.

To his surprise, Metatron did still remember how to use a weapon when he needed to. With his reformed body, it came like muscle memory as he attacked demon after demon, hoping to give freedom to the human souls trapped and pained inside with these monsters. He hadn't fought often as Enoch, but he  _had_  hunted. He knew how to fire a weapon and have it hit its mark just as well as he knew how to strip a beast of its meat and where to make a cut so that it bleeds most.

Thus far, he had avoided getting hurt, but when he saw Balthzar go down, he very nearly left himself open for attack. He whirled around at the last moment and killed the man now lunging at him. There weren't many of these demons. It was pretty obvious they'd counted on getting the upper hand. It shouldn't take much to clear a path to his friend, and only a bit longer to eliminate the threat all together.

Metatron was vicious as he cut through the demons to reach Balthazar's side and fought off still more who would have taken advantage of the injured angel know kneeling on the ground. The other angels took his lead and closed formation around Balthazar, something that was relatively new for the heavenly beings. Like gazelles on the African plains, they normally would leave the injured one behind to focus the enemies' attack on something other than the group as a whole.

It spoke volumes that they were so willing to protect one another now, and to protect the angel who had always been something bordering on an outcast.

With a ring of seraphs around them, Metatron knelt beside his friend. "Where did he get you?" he asked, draping three of his wings over the angel to provide added protection.

"You always did have pretty wings."

"Shut up, you stupid idiot and tell me where he got you." Metatron ran a hand through his own dark hair to get it out of his eyes. He watched as Balthazar raised his hands from his side where his grace was already trying to seep its way out of his vessel. The archangel quickly covered the wound with his own hands and he began to heal his friend's injury.

"Think it will scar? I'd hate to lose my pretty figure."

"Your flawless complexion will be back entact once again. I wouldn't want to risk your chances at becoming a male model."

The skin knit itself gack in place again, and Balthazar shifted so that he was resting on his elbows. "Do you ever think all these secrets are such a good thing?"

"I think it's still more honesty than they've gotten in a long time, but a little more... what is the word they banter about now? Transparency. Transparency could be a good thing." He offered a hand to Balthazar to help him stand.

"You realize if I'm going to get back into the battle, you're going to need to move your wings."

Metatron quickly folded his appendages. "Right. Let's finish this, shall we?"

#

The operahouse was still in a state of repair, from the looks of it. It had probably been a central place in town, but fell into disuse until the historic society decided it deserved a facelift. This meant the seats had only the thinnest cushioning possible, and Dean was pretty sure his ass was going to sleep. Johnny's fidgeting was not helping much as the boy sat on his left leg.

"I just want to thank you all for bringing me here," Missouri said as she walked around with a headset on a la John Edwards. "It's really a surprise for me to get this sort of recognition. I usually keep a low profile, when I can."

Johnny happily waved to the woman from his spot on Dean's lap, and she offered him a smile and a tiny wave in return. "I also want to thank my family for being here today. My stepsons, Dean and Sam, along with Dean's partner, Cas and their boy, Johnny, all came out today."

There were a few gasps in the crowd, and though Dean knew that Missouri wasn't the only one who was going to be a local celebrity by the end of this day. After all, the organizers had found Missouri through the Supernatural books, so the names Sam, Dean and Cas were probably very familiar.

"Why don't you boys stand up so the crowd can see how handsome you are."

And so that you aren't the only one they swarm after all this is over. Thanks a hell of a lot, Missouri. Still, Dean stood, though he did try to keep Johnny sheilded as much as possible. It was bad enough that they were all going to be celebrities for the day. The boy didn't need that, too. There'd better not be any more crazy psychics in the crowd who'll go after my son, or I'll hold you responsible.

She gave him a look that told him to trust her, but really, she should have known that trust wasn't something that came easily to Dean.

When he settled back into his seat, actually a little grateful for the opportunity to move and get feeling back in his behind, he noticed Cas's hand tentatively moving to settle atop Dean's lap. The hunter didn't know why he was so surprised his partner-yeah, still not used to that word, but it was infinitely better than the other options-was so tactile. Cas had never really "gotten" personal space, so now that they were more than content with trying to suck one another's faces off, it shouldn't have been a surprise that he would be so happy to touch now.

He was, at least, still trying to respect Dean's boundaries, but if they were going to give this a go, Dean knew some of those boundaries would need to come down. He shifted slightly in his seat and noticed the angel quickly withdrew his hand, as though caught about to do something he shouldn't. The hunter said nothing as Missouri was busy reading the crowd, but did drape his arm over the back of the angel's seat.

Blue eyes met his and Dean gave a little nod to tell him it was okay. Then, a warm palm covered his jean-covered knee and Cas's left shoulder leaned in to the hunter's sidejust a bit. Johnny was busy mouthing poor Chewie-and Dean snickered that the wookie was living up to his name-while Cas seemed dangerously close to outright leaning against Dean.

He watched Missouri handled the crowd surprisingly easily. She answered questions, consoled those who came looking for some message from those they had lost, made people laugh and intermittently told embarrasing stories about the brothers and the angel to keep the mood light. Johnny fell asleep, drooling all over Dean's dress shirt.

Dean moved his hand to Cas's neck and toyed with the angel's hair. He hummed and spoke in a low voice in Dean's ear, "If you continue to do that, you will soon have me slobbering on your shirt as well."

"Missouri would never forgive me if you both fell asleep." He moved his hand and instead draped it over the angel's shoulder. To his left, Dean saw Sam looking at them like they were a box of puppies. Dean was the one starting a more-or-less gay relationship with the angel, but _Samantha_  was the one being the girl.


	43. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have changed for Dean and Castiel, in a good way for once.

_"Having a place to go—is a home. Having someone to love—is a family. Having both—is a blessing." Donna Hedges_

The Impala was and always would be Dean's home, but when Bobby's transformed home came into sight, it was a relief. The house had always been a sort of sanctuary, but since the angels' renovations, it became his  _other_  home. The back was still a mess of cars and junk, which Dean had always liked and found oddly comforting. There was still enough there that Dean could probably piece together a few dozen cars, but the front looked nothing like the old junkyard. It looked like a family home now, all upkeep maintained and front yard full of toys.

Bobby's beat-up old truck was parked in the driveway and Dean pulled the Impala in behind it. Cas was entertaining Johnny in the back, and Sam was texting Emma like a teenager, letting her know he'd gotten home. Admittedly, Emma was supposed to visit soon, and probably needed to know they were home, but still.

Dean got out of the car and took care of the luggage. He was grateful that they'd been able to stay with Andrea instead of a hotel. There had been none of the weird looks about Dean and Cas obviously sharing a bed or comments about Johnny's arm. Though Dean had just called to meet with Andrea when they made their stop that night, she'd insisted they stay with her rather than in a hotel. Dean hadn't been one to argue.

It had been nice, but as he watched Johnny's face light up at the sight of the blue-painted house, Dean felt like he'd managed something right as a father. He'd given his kid a sense of home. They all had.

Bobby was out on the porch waiting on them, and the moment they approached, he took Johnny from Cas's arms. "There's my little guy." The baby gave his grandpa a hug, though wriggled his nose at the whiskers.

"Man, if that's what it takes to get you this pleasant, we should have gotten you laid years ago," Dean said as he carried the suitcases past Bobby and into the house. The older hunter looked a little flabbergasted, which made it all the more amusing to Dean.

"Yeah, well, you're awfully perky, yourself. That mean something for you, too?" Bobby asked as he followed them into the house.

"Don't worry, your newly adopted son can still wear white at his wedding."

"Wedding?" Cas's voice asked behind him, and Dean tried not to stop walking in his embarrassment. He didn't want the guy to get the wrong idea.

"Old saying. Brides don't wear white if they've  _known_  someone. You know, biblically."

It took Cas a second, but the realization dawned on his face, and thankfully, the angel had no sense that some men would be ashamed to admit they were still a virgin at Cas's age—or at least, the age the angel appeared; Dean was pretty sure if they had gone thousands of years, maybe millions, without a good lay, they'd have killed themselves long before being questioned about it now.

And, as the angel began sorting out Johnny's dirty clothes for the washer before taking the clean ones upstairs, Dean had trouble accepting that this creature—sure he had  _feelings_  for him, but Cas still wasn't human—was millions of years old, older than humanity itself, but was somehow content with mundane human tasks, starting an almost human life. At least, when he wasn't using his powers to go all smitey.

Cas looked at Dean and smiled, then waved his hand to tell him to come back. "Don't take the suitcases upstairs. There are soiled clothes that would be better suited if they were sorted out now."

No one was in the hallway at that moment, as Sam was busy talking to Emma, arranging for her visit, and Bobby was entertaining Johnny in the living room. And even if they were, Dean thought he still might have kissed Cas quickly as he stood holding a mashed peas and carrots-covered shirt. The angel looked slightly bewildered.

"You seem happy," Cas said, though it was somewhere between a question and a statement, as though he wasn't used to Dean actually  _being_  happy. And, he probably wasn't.

"'Course I am. I've got an angel doing my laundry."

"You have an angel  _sorting_  your  _son's_  laundry. I have been banned from the washer and dryer since the incident with the bleach."

Dean was still helping Cas sort the clean and dirty clothes when Bobby came through the hall with a somewhat smelly Johnny. "One of you two want to do the honors?" he asked, holding the baby out to his parents.

Cas tapped Johnny's hip twice and the baby giggled, far too used to Cas's mojo. "Done."

"Well, as soon as you're done here, Feathers, you need to help me sort out my garage. I'd like to be able to fit a car in there sometime this week."

Johnny tried to giving the older hunter's beard a tug, but he avoided the reaching hand with practiced skill. "And you can help later by finishing that Valiant. The last of the parts came yesterday."

Dean's face reflexively twisted at the mention of that car.

"It ain't that bad, and it's a paying gig," Bobby reminded him. Dean wondered if he'd feel any differently if the car wasn't the 1960s equivalent of the minivan or family sedan. At least his baby's model had the reputation for being cop cars. And even if it had been designed for families, when someone saw Baby coming, they noticed her and were maybe a little intimidated. The Valiant would make them smirk, maybe even laugh.

Cas put the last of the dirty clothes in the hamper, then looked at Bobby. "We might as well get started."

Dean was handed his son so that Bobby and Cas could take care of the goodies from the pawn shop. He pushed a little of the boy's hair from his eyes. "You may need a haircut soon, kiddo."

Johnny leaned into Dean's palm with a content smile. "I can't believe it hasn't even been five months that you've been around this place. It feels like longer." Yet it had taken much less time for Johnny to bounce back from his mother's neglect than Dean had thought it would. Aside from being very tactile, the boy was no different than other children his age.

"Sorry that I'm not going to make life easy for you, me being a hunter and now making you the kid with two daddies."

"By the time he's in school, it won't probably be all that weird, even in South Dakota," Sam said from the doorway to the bathroom.

"Might still be weird for me," Dean said. "I didn't really count on playing house after Lisa."

"And that's all that will be weird for you?" Sam asked as he walked toward the father and son.

"What d'you mean?" Dean asked as he shifted Johnny to his other side.

"Cas is a little less curvy than your usual conquests."

"I'm cool with that," Dean said.

"Really? Because if you're going to have a big gay freak-out. I'd rather you didn't do it in front of Cas. He's not going to understand your hang-ups on sexuality."

The older brother snickered. "That's old news, Sam."

"What do you mean it's old news?"

Dean looked at his son, not wanting to scar him for life, even if he couldn't talk, then he looked at his brother, who deserved to be scarred. "Let's just say that I may not have competed in all the events, but this isn't my first rodeo."

With a smirk, he headed for the hallway, where Bobby was holding a box labeled "Mysteries of the Orient, which he quickly foisted off on Sam. "Since when?" Sam asked as he adjusted the box in his arms.

"Since you went away to college," Bobby said before Dean could answer.

"How'd you know about it?" Dean asked, a little surprised.

#

_Harley Rosenberg was quite possibly the weirdest guy Dean had ever met. He sounded like a Boston-born Woody Allen, loved all things mechanical (yes, his parents_ had  _actually named him after the bike), and he was pretty funny. Dean found he was really grateful for the backup facing off against a poltergeist haunting a St. Louis gay club. Dean's Dad was still a little ... off, had been since Sam left four months ago, and he wouldn't have blended in anyway. At least Dean could admit to himself—never aloud—that he probably wouldn't hurt for interest in the club if it came to it. The ghost only went after people getting hot and heavy, and Dean had never hesitated playing bait before._

_He wondered sometimes how far he was willing to go for a hunt._

_Harley had approached at Dean's side, then leaned in close to be heard over the sound of "It's Raining Men" being played on the dance floor—with irony, Dean hoped. "You are_ so _out of your element," the man said, running a hand through curly black hair. "You look like a deer caught in headlights most of the time."_

_"Just most of it?" Dean asked, trying not to let him in on his cover._

_"Except when you're looking for that ghost."_

_Harley turned out to be a damned useful asset once he got to know him, not only on the hunt, but in saving Dean's ass, maybe literally. Dean had been prepared for the ghost, but not for the men at the bar. "What was with that guy? He was old enough to be my dad. And he kept saying I had a 'twink vibe.'" He looked at the shorter man. "That sounds like some kind of weird sex toy." Dean was imagining something Twinkie-shaped._

_"They're saying you look cute and you're baby-faced. Probably betting you were even more twinky a couple of years ago."_

_It turned out that waiting for guys to go at one another enough to act as bait for a ghost wasn't the easiest in the middle of the week, and by Thursday, Dean put his sexuality issues aside and slammed Harley into the wall at the darkened corner of the club where everything seemed to be covered in vinyl for easy cleaning. Dean did his best not to think about why as he felt a tongue in his mouth simulating something way beyond kissing and a strong hand pressing against the back of his head._

_It was all lips and hands and hips, and it was downright hot, if Dean had anything to say about it. It was enough to bring the ghost out of hiding, and they were able to finally find the remaining portion of the thing's remains and burn it up._

_When the hunt was over, their adrenaline was still high, both had celebrated maybe a little too much with the booze, and to Dean's surprise, the make-out session had gotten him very hot under his collar. Had there been a girl handy, he probably would have preferred her, but maybe not. He'd started something with Harley and it felt wrong not to finish it, even if it had been forced initially. Dean didn't think he'd had as good a blowjob in his entire life, and he was happy to reciprocate, with a handjob. He wasn't quite ready to do more than that. Not at 23 and still a virgin when it came to another man._

_They'd finished and were still trying to suck one another face's off, maybe even get ready for round two when Dean's dad had walked through the crappy motel room door._

_#_

_"He was... He was straddling this other hunter. I couldn't see what they were doing before I walked in, but... it was something."_

_Bobby hadn't really been expecting that, but he knew he had to handle this carefully, just like John, hopefully, would. "And what did you do?" Bobby asked. He still hadn't forgiven the bastard for the things said, for how he treated his boys like soldiers and questioned Bobby for doing otherwise. Bobby hadn't been stupid, even as he was getting angry at his friend, he knew John was jealous that he had a different relationship with his sons and had the luxury of treating them like boys._

_"I backed out," John said. "I'm at a payphone outside the motel now. Dean made the other hunter, Harley, I think his name is, leave. Dean's waiting in the room for me to talk with him about this."_

_"Yell at him, more like," Bobby said. Before John could argue otherwise, he continued. "that boy lives for your approval, and he's probably terrified he doesn't have it."_

_"But what do I ... How do I ... If he's actually gay. It's not the same as two soldiers in a foxhole. That's different."_

_"So you've established. But does it really matter if he is? Does it suddenly make him less of a hunter?"_

_"No."_

_"Any less your son?"_

_"It's not what I want for him."_

_"But do you love him any differently?"_

_"No. Of course not."_

_"Then tell him that. Because anything else will either break him or make you lose him, too. This isn't a small thing, John. And as hard as it is for you, you've got to manage a little tact."_

#

"You talked to Dad?" Dean asked, offering a toy to Johnny. "That explains a lot."

"What did he say?" Bobby asked, curious after all these years. John hadn't spoken to him again after that. He only got the odd phone call from Dean until he and Sam had captured Meg. That's when the boys had waltzed back into his life, and he was the happier for it.

"He told me that normally we hunt alone, don't take anyone not family with us except on the odd hunt, but if I thought Harley was a good fit, he could stick around."

"And?" Sam asked.

"And I told him he didn't have to worry about that. Harley was a good guy, but we were fine alone. I called Harley, told him goodbye and that if he needed help on a hunt, to give me a call."

"Dad didn't say anything else?"

"After what he'd just seen, that was a lot. That was like getting a bumper sticker for the Impala that said 'My son's here, he's queer, deal with it.' Hell, it was more than that. He basically told me that it was ok if I was trying to start up a relationship, with a guy no less."

Sam shifted the box in his hands. "Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

Dean frowned, and Bobby really wished that Sam hadn't asked that. For a kid so smart, Sam could be a real idiot sometimes. The old hurt faded from Dean's face, but the older hunter knew it was there all the same. "You weren't exactly talking to me back then."

"I was an idiot," Sam said, and he got quiet for a moment. "But you know you've made a lot of gay jokes over the years. Most of them about me. And you always get squeamish when people thing we're together."

"Dude, you're my brother, and I'm not a Dean/Sam guy." Johnny made a cooing noise that meant the boy wanted his attention. "Besides, nobody wants to think a perfect stranger might suspect. At least, I didn't. It was a one-time thing, or I thought it would be, so it was my business." The hunter looked down at his son and smiled. "Bobby, do you need me to help haul?"

"Entertain your boy," he said. "But I'm going to drag your brother into helping." Some of Sam's intelligence showed when he didn't complain.

#

The garage was cleared and Castiel could smell food cooking in the kitchen. Bobby had stopped grousing about the amount of work the angel had created a little over an hour ago when Bobby had discovered an image of Benzaiten dating back to the Nanboku-cho period. Apparently, the older hunter had had a pleasant encounter with the goddess during his time in Japan. Castiel had asked about it, but Bobby had just smiled and said he was keeping it to himself.

As soon as Dean saw the photo, he'd made a comment about that being "one hell of a busty Asian beauty."

There was more than enough room for a second car in the garage, though a few boxes remained. Castiel wasn't going to move those without additional instructions from Bobby. He ran his hands over the unusual curves in the body of the car Dean was working on now. It had been badly repainted an odd shade of yellow while the interior remained its original sea foam green. Though the hunter had made it obvious how much he hated the vehicle, Cas found himself understanding a little better just how Dean could be so attached to the Impala's aesthetics.

He had always understood Dean's attraction to the one consistent thing in his life, that devotion had never been lost on the angel. It was his attachment to the Impala's "beauty" that had always had him at a loss.

"I made spaghetti if you're interested," Dean's voice said from the doorway. "Or, well, I made the noodles and heated up a jar of sauce."

"Of course," Castiel said.

Yet, Dean moved from the door and toward Castiel. "You know not to get attached to that car, right? It's like a lost kitten. We have to give it back to its owner."

"I am aware it belongs to someone else," the angel said, feeling his pulse quicken as Dean moved closer.

"Just making sure," Dean said, now close enough that Castiel could feel the hunter's body heat warming him. And as though he knew what his nearness was doing to the angel, Dean smirked. Castiel decided that Dean knew what he wa bringing upon himself if he gave the angel a teasing look like that.

Castiel placed his hands at either side of Dean's jaw and pulled him the necessary few inches forward to kiss him. He could feel the hunter's lips curve upward into a smile at Castiel's eagerness. Solid, calloused hands moved to the angel's shoulders and down his back to his behind. When those hands firmly squeezed, a gasp escaped his lips, and Dean took full advantage by slipping his tongue into his mouth. If Castiel had felt any doubt about his partner's desire for him in this vessel, they were at least lessened in that moment.

Castiel found he enjoyed the way Dean tasted, a bit of mint, a tinge of alcohol, a bit of the same flavor that covered the man's skin, but without the salty tang or the odd flavor of cheap hotel soap. He also found pleasure in exploring Dean's body through touch. Thus far, because they had shared the room with Johnny for the last three nights, it had been done with light touches over clothing. He wanted to explore without the boundaries between them.

He asked as much when their lips parted. The hunter groaned, then pressed his forehead to Castiel's and closed his eyes. "How am I supposed to sit at a table with Sam and Bobby and  _our kid_ when you ask me stuff like that?"

They were flush against one another, and the angel could feel the hardening bulge of Dean's jeans at his hip. He could feel himself responding in kind. It was uncomfortable and awkward, though considerably less so than when he had stripped Dean and placed him in the shower, or when he had been working on the Chevelle and washed off the dust from the putty. He dared a glance at the patches of rust and pitting on the Valiant's metal body and let out a soft moan at the realization he'd get to see that again.

"What was that for? I'd just finally moved back to be good and calm down, and everything. Then you made _that noise_ , and I'm back at square one." He raised his eyebrows and glanced down toward his crotch, as though clarifying for the angel just what he meant.

"I must apologize," he said, shifting his fingers to Dean's hair. "I was remembering the body work that you did on the other car, and how you washed the residue off in the yard."

"And just remembering made you do  _that_?" the hunter asked, sounding far more incredulous and much less cocky than Castiel would have expected.

"Of all of the attributes you underestimate about yourself, I never assumed your attractiveness was among them."

Dean huffed in laughter. "Just never thought it would have much of an effect on you."

"You have no idea," Castiel assured him before kissing him again.

"Hey, lovebirds, get your behinds in here before the food gets cold," Bobby yelled from the doorway.

Dean kissed him softly on the lips one last time with a whispered promise of "Tonight."


	44. Touched by an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intimate moments

_"Real intimacy is a sacred experience. It never exposes its secret trust and belonging to the voyeuristic eye of a neon culture. Real intimacy is of the soul, and the soul is reserved."_

_John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom_

The last thing Castiel wanted, now that Dean had made it official, was to appear as though he was being a bad parent, but he had to admit to attempting to speed up Johnny's usual bedtime routine. The promise of something more than touches over clothing had the angel anxious for the privacy of Dean's bedroom.

He watched as Dean gently rocked Johnny to sleep by swaying side to side while the boy nuzzled against his neck. "Night little guy," Dean said in a hushed voice as he hummed tunelessly into the child's ear. Castiel was aware that while Dean was not really tone-deaf, he didn't always try all that hard to hit the notes of his favorite songs. At the moment, he didn't seem to be bothering even with a specific melody. It didn't seem to trouble his son in the least.

Johnny's breathing evened out, and his father gently placed him in his crib. Castiel moved to his side and pulled the soft blue blanket over the baby's sleeping form and brushed the reddish hair from the chubby little face.

"It is quite early still," Castiel said in a whisper, though it almost pained him to do so. "Did you want to go downstairs?" Green eyes looked at him curiously. "You rarely are in bed so early, and I do not sleep. Bobby and Sam may suspect—"

"Let 'em," Dean said. A warm hand found Castiel's forearm. "And that better be the last time you mention them tonight, if you don't want to spoil my mood." He tugged Castiel down the hallway to Dean's room.

"Glad we can do this in our own bed instead of some seedy motel room," the hunter said before closing the door behind them. When he glanced at the angel again, he quirked his lips. "What'd I say now? You've got that grin on you like I just told you you weren't going back to the pound."

Castiel shook his head and kissed Dean rather than answer. It was getting ridiculous, even for him, how much value he put in things being "theirs."

Dean's hands quickly found the angel's hair, and Castiel was taken aback by the sheer ferocity with which Dean returned his kiss. It seemed he truly had underestimated the effect he had on the hunter. When they parted, he saw Dean staring at him almost in wonder, as though he had underestimated as well.

"This is all completely new to you," Dean said, his voice a pitch deeper than usual. "So you need to at least give me an idea of what you want."

Castiel very nearly said, "everything," and while he did very much want to experience everything he could, step-by-step over time might be best given his newness to this. One thing had consumed his thoughts since earlier that night. He wanted to explore Dean's body. He wanted free reign to touch and map it out once again. This time, under much more pleasant circumstances.

_"I need you to come with me. You are the Righteous Man. You do not belong here." Fingers outstretched, he reached for the surprisingly still-human creature. The thing before him was almost grotesque in its perversion of what was surely once a most beautiful soul, but Castiel could still see the remnants of that beauty, even if it was obvious the soul could not. "Please." His wings were blacked and scorched, and every ounce of his Grace was begging him to leave, but he would not do it without Dean Winchester._

"I want to touch you."

"Sure," Dean said, looking quite at ease with that suggestion. "We could—"

He shook his head. "I want to commit you to memory." As though he didn't already secretly know every inch of Dean's body. The man looked surprised and poised to argue. Castiel suspected it was because the hunter's self-sacrificing nature didn't like anything to be one-sided. "Please?" He added.

Any resistance melted at that, and a hand grabbed his. Their fingers intertwined as their lips met again. "Fine by me, but I want to see you."

_Grimy fingers grapsed onto his own. "I don't understand. Take them. She only made a deal because she was molested. He only did because his wife was dying."_

_"You only did because an eternity in Hell seemed more bearable than a day without your brother. You_ are _worthy Dean Winchester."_

"I do not understand."

"We're both stripping, Cas. It's not fair, otherwise." Then, Dean's hands began pushing at the hem of Castiel's shirt. Calloused fingers tickled—an odd sensation—as they skimmed over the angel's heated flesh. They moved upward, and he complied without a word as the soft cotton was replaced by the cool air of a summer night, let in by the open windows.

Dean was considerably less malleable, as he insisted upon kissing the angel's jaw, neck, collarbone and shoulders as Castiel tried to remove the Led Zepplin shirt from his back. He could not seem to get enough, and consequently, the man was slowly turning him into a pile of mush. That wasn't what the angel had planned.

_The human soul had been remarkably quiet as they made their ascent. Castiel's brethren were keeping the demons at bay, now that they saw he was successful in retrieving the Righteous Man._

_"Dean Winchester has been saved," came their chant as the darkness broke and a glimmer of light could finally be seen in the distance._

_That was when Dean fought him, when he thrashed and sobbed and bit at the arms holding him. Castiel could not understand how someone so obviously worthy could undervalue himself so severely. So many of the sources of this man's emotions and uncertanties were out of the angel's experience. He had watched humanity long enough, however, to at least understand the concept of fear, and even why Dean Winchester had reason to be afraid. Once they surfaced on earth, the human would have to live with what he had done, and for a human mind, especially one that seemed as prone to guilt as this one, it would be difficult and painful._

When he finally got the shirt over the hunter's head, Dean wasted no time in pressing their bare torsos and chests together. It was like electricity going off and flooding through Castiel's veins. He could never have properly imagined it, how good and  _right_  it felt to have this hard, muscular body pressed against his own. He wanted to practically devour the man's mouth with a level of desire he hadn't felt since Famine. He was curious if, given the change in their relationship, he wouldn't feel an all-consuming desire for the man whose tongue was currently invading his mouth with practiced skill if the horseman were to suddenly show again.

Dean's fingers did not express the same need as Castiel's, but something entirely different. For while the angel's were roaming over hot skin and taut muscles, Dean's were sliding beneath the waistband of Castiel's cotton pants. The angel's knees very nearly gave out beneath him when he felt roughened fingers and palms slide over his hips, beneath even his underwear to push the fabric downward. Exposed to the open air, he could only shudder.

_Castiel's experience with humans had always been at a distance. He had never realized the exhilaration of such closeness to a soul, and he had to wonder if others would have such an effect on him._

"I know you want to touch me first, but this is new for you. I don't think you're going to last much longer," Dean said as his lips grazed Castiel's ear. "Let me do this for you. Then I promise you can have your wily way with me."

With a shuddering breath, the angel nodded.

Dean slowly pushed the pants down over Castiel's behind, hips and thighs. From there they dropped on their own until they rested at his ankles. "Have you ever done this for yourself?" Dean asked, one hand moving to soothingly card through Castiel's hair as he practically shook with  _want_  and  _need._  The left hand was curled at the angel's hip, where the thickened pad of his thumb rubbed circles that were both comforting and taunting.

"I've never," Castiel finally managed as he rested his forehead on a densely freckled shoulder.

"Look at me, Cas. If I do this, I don't want to hurt you or fuck it up. I need to let me know it's good." Castiel wasn't sure how anything could be bad, but he did as Dean asked. Meeting those mossy green eyes, wide with lust but full of concern and affection, almost undid the angel in that moment. Castiel feared he looked like a wild animal as he met Dean's gaze. This felt good, but hurt. He  _wanted_ , but he was filled with apprehension.

_The soul lost its corporeal form as they entered the light and settled down inside a grove of trees surrounding a small wooden cross. It seemed such a paltry remembrance for a soul still so bright despite being so broken. Castiel suspected that there had been little time to prepare a worthy monument. He could feel the soul reaching out to him. It saw his wings, had seen his brothers'. Castiel could feel the amplified guilt as Dean Winchester's soul ached when it took the blame for the dulled, blackened feathers._

_It also wrapped Castiel in tendrils of beautiful green light so soft and so brilliant, the angel could have lost himself in it. Despite it all, Dean wanted to be sure of his rescuers' well being._

The hand that had been in Castiel's hair moved first, sliding between his shoulder blades to press him against Dean's chest. He realized this wasn't just for closeness but to keep him upright. As the other hand moved slowly to the right, Castiel found himself gripping so tightly to the man's arms that not only were his fingertips turned white from the pressure, but Dean's skin around them had lost its color as well. He hoped he did not harm him, but the hunter had not given any indication of pain.

When finally Dean touched him, he could not, did not contain the gasp of surprise, followed by a long, rumbling moan. It was all Castiel could do not to give in right in that moment. Dean was babbling, trying very hard not to use Castiel's father's name, and telling the angel that he was "sexy" and "amazing." Castiel could only barely make out the words over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears and his own soft chant of "Dean, Dean, Dean." He had barely paid attention to his bodily functions before, but now, he couldn't seem to avoid them as this human form was overwhelming his angelic mind with information and sensation. Skin on skin contact, his thighs and his penis rubbing and occasionally brushing, respectfully, against the rough denim of Dean's pants. A hand slickened by the fluid Castiel seemed incapable of stopping sliding up, down, thumb sliding over, around. Rough fingers and leather-thick palm bracing his back and keeping an otherwise shuddering mess upright. Eyes as green as the rolling hills of Ireland, fixed unflinchingly on his own. Full, pink lips reassuring him with words lost on his overwrought brain, but his own ears still hearing the rough, deep voice lilting melodically. Musk and oil and baby shampoo, and cheap powder-scented soap filled his nostrils.

Beneath it all was a soul still bright and a little broken, but happy.

With a cry almost physically wrenched from his lips, the angel finally found release and would have collapsed if not for strong arms and the solid presence of his partner. He pressed his face to sweat-slick skin and waited for the high of his climax to come down. A stubbled cheek pressed against his head.

"That was fucking hot," Dean said once Castiel had finally calmed down. They were close enough that Castiel had proof the man wasn't lying. It was pressing, hard but not insistent, against his hip.

"Why don't we work our way back to the bed?" Dean asked as he wiped his left hand on his jeans.

The angel nodded, but hoped Dean understood that he would be responsible for most of the movement. It seemed the hunter did, as Castiel received only a chuckle for his own failed attempts to move.

The quilt, normally soft to the touch due to its age, felt like sandpaper on his over-sensitized skin. "Are you okay?" Dean asked as his hand moved through Castiel's dark hair.

_"I am unharmed. They will heal." He clutched the soul close to this chest as he used his Grace to force its vessel back to the surface. It was not in a very good state. Castiel would need to rectify that._

"I am much better than okay," he said, pressing his lips to Dean's and moving a shaking hand to the fly of his jeans.

"You don't have to."

"I want to touch you, all of you. The jeans will get in the way." The man hesitated for a moment, watching Castiel carefully, but for what, he didn't know. Then, with almost boyish enthusiasm, he wiggled out of his jeans and pulled off his socks. When he was done, he was wearing only the amulet and a cocky smile.

"Touch away," he said, arms outstretched.

"Back first," Castiel said, regaining himself, though trying to ignore how quickly his body was recovering its interest.

Dean turned on the bed so that he was face-down, hissing lightly as his hips made contact with the bed, but he glanced over his shoulder at the angel. "Tease."

The strength was returning to his vessel, Castiel knelt on the bed at Dean's side and allowed his fingers to trace over the hunter's back.

_The hellhounds had done a number on this body. It took very little to repair the injury to his back and shoulder, to breathe new life into skin and sinew. It took far more to cope with the mourning of the soul that seemed to be minutes from shattering in his arms at the sight and memory of what happened. Castiel tried to reassure it that he was going to make that body whole once again. Yet, even those reassurances fell short._

Castiel was feeling bolder now as he pressed his lips to his partner's shoulder blades. "Gonna give me more freckles, if the old saying is right," Dean muttered against his arms, which were now beneath his cheek.

"Old saying?" he asked as he let his hands follow the paths of bone and muscle along the man's back.

"Freckles are angels' kisses, or so my mom used to say."

"While I hate to discount your mother, that is not accurate. Though I am very fond of your freckles." He moved his lips to Dean's spine, allowing his tongue to slip between them and gently swipe at the skin. It made the hunter squirm beneath him in a delicious sort of way. He inched himself down further so that he was straddling Dean's thighs, moving ever so slowly so that he could work the entire way down to the man's waist.

He frowned when he came to a new scar or cut, but he quickly healed each one. When he was done, he ran his thinner, musician-like fingers over the once-again-flawless skin. Castiel found he liked the way Dean's smooth, tanned body contrasted to the paleness of his own arm, lightly dusted with dark hair. With all of Dean on full display, the angel had to admit that the difference between the skin on Dean's back and arms with that beneath his waist was almost as drastic. The freckles became much sparser, his skin tone lightened—though not as much as Castiel supposed he should expect, given that Dean rarely worked outside in anything less than jeans.

His hands roamed over the curve of his lover's—Dean might opt not to use the word, but in his own mind, given what they had done and would eventually do, Castiel had no qualms with it—behind. The hunter made an odd noise, which caused him to pause.

"I'm fine, Cas," Dean assured. "Not used to someone showing attention to my ass." He twisted slightly to offer a smile. "Guess I'm going to have to get used to that."

"Not necessarily," the angel said as his right hand gently stroked over the outside of Dean's thigh. "When we commence anal sex. If we do," he amended. "I have no issues with being penetrated."

Dean groaned. "You are so weird," he said, "using clinical talk in the bedroom, and I'm even more fucked up for finding it sexy."

Castiel's lip quirked upward. "I believe that merely means we are a good match."

_The soul was making repairing its body more difficult than necessary. Castiel knew very little of Dean Winchester beyond the prophecies of his destiny to help heaven defeat Lucifer. The angel wondered if he was always so obstinate or if this was something new, caused by the guilt of his actions in Hell. Something about the bright energy quivering against his side seemed to indicate it was both, though more the former than the latter._

"You know I don't want that, though," Dean said, turning beneath him. "For it to be one-sided, I mean." Castiel pushed at his shoulder so that he would turn his body completely to face him.

"I realize that," he said, noting with some disappointment that Dean did not appear to be as aroused as he had been. He decided that conversations about the give and take in their relationship could wait. The angel's hands roamed over Dean's skin, and lightly rubbed his thumbs over both of the man's nipples.

Dean sharply inhaled, then offered a wry smile. "Perky nipples." Castiel suspected if the man hadn't been on his back, he might have shrugged at that. He bent over Dean's body and flicked his tongue over one of those nipples. This time, it elicited a moan. He gently brought his lips around it, then his teeth. That made the hunter arch off the bed so deliciously it was all the angel could do not to moan at the sight.

The first time, at least.

He repeated the process again at the other nipple. He got the same reaction, and this time, he allowed himself a sound of appreciation at the effect he was having on his lover. Dean was particularly sensitive here, and Castiel logged that information away for future use. But not before he did everything he could to abuse it now for his own purposes.

Eventually, he moved the focus of his attention. He kissed down the man's smooth chest and showed particular attention to his tattoo. It was a sign of appreciation for what kept the hunter safe.

"Cas," Dean said in a manner so close to pleading it made Castiel shudder atop him.

He leaned down so that his body was flush to Dean's, and hissed as their hips met. Dean seemed to be regaining interest as the angel kissed him again, and Castiel was grateful for it.

The angel's hands roamed over every inch of skin they could reach, moving across Dean's arms and down to his hands. Their fingers laced together and gripped tightly; their hips moved almost with a will of their own.

_Castiel was startled when the soul latched onto his Grace, determined not to be made to go back. There was so much sadness, such a feeling of worthlessness. His brother, a man called Robert Singer, and a black metallic object were the only bright spots that Dean could seem to find in his life, and he did not seem to trust that any of them would treat him the same after Hell. That any would even_ be _the same after forty years._

_"Four months," Castiel corrected. "Just months on Earth. And all will embrace your return. You will also have angels to guide and instruct you." He did not want to give the impression they would act as guardians, or even that he would be among them, but it was important for the soul to know it would not be alone._

_He could feel it questioning if_ he _would be one of those angels. If he were, it would be a significant promotion from simple soldier, and he could offer no guarantees. "Possibly."_

Castiel pried his right hand from Dean's grip as they rocked against one another. Their mouths seemed wholly occupied now in an endless chant of one another's names, broken only by kissing, tasting, nipping. Castiel's breath, normally so unnecessary, caught in his throat as Dean's hand wrapped firmly around them both while his own slotted in the place it had first left its mark on the man's flesh. The contact, mixed with Dean's hand on them as they thrust against one another was pushing him over the edge. He only barely held on because he wanted to see the hunter to completion first.

He gripped Dean's shoulder tightly and pulled back to watch him as he felt the man getting closer. Though there was a different sort of beauty to it, the way his name sounded as it rolled off of the man's kiss-swollen lips made Castiel's Grace ache in joy and pleasure at its very core. Dean spent so much of his time trying to hold himself together, to cover for any emotion, but Castiel was watching all of those carefully built walls come down to the tune of "Cas, Cas, Castiel, Cas."

Though it was probably far too voyeuristic for his partner's tastes, Castiel had seen Dean mid intercourse before, and he couldn't remember Dean losing himself the way that he was now. He wondered if Dean had ever shown enough trust in a partner to let his walls crumble as he neared the pinnacle. His eyes seemed to be struggling to keep their focus and threatened to roll back into his head as he came closer and closer still. Not once did he try to rein any of that back in out of either embarrassment or self-preservation.

Castiel was driven on by the feeling of his Grace tickling beneath the surface of Dean's body and that soul that had grabbed onto him and not wanted to let go. It felt all to familiar, though the context was so much different, so much happier.

_Dean refused to stay in his body, so Castiel pressed a hand to the man's shoulder to force the soul to stay put. The contact brought the many breaks in the poor human's soul to the surface and made Castiel feel, for the first time, something that made him want to weep. This had to be repaired, and he was capable of fixing it, even if he had been given no orders to do so._

_His Grace trickled into the human's body. Though it was already exhausted from the trip to Hell, it offered no resistence in helping this human heal. Castiel knew it would not return, and yet he could not find it in himself to miss it. There was something very special about this man, something more than prophecy or his purpose in the apocolypse._

At the sensation of warmth between their bodies, knowing he had caused that, that he had wrenched the scream of his name from the hunter's lips as he climaxed, Castiel found himself hitting his own peak for the second time that night. He was certain that he might replay the image of Dean's face contorted and lost in pleasure for future reference. It could probably sustain him for years, but this... the sensation of holding and being held, of kissing, and of thrusting and finding release together was something more.

It was far more than he thought he would experience.

Then, Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean's hip to clean them both of the evidence of their lovemaking. "Dating an angel, awesome." Dean sounded completely drained and looked almost boneless as he stared up at at him with a contented grin on his face.

"I assume I may no longer wear white," Castiel said as he settled onto the bed and felt Dean curl against him far more easily than the first times they had attempted sleeping together.

"That's one way to put it," Dean said with a chuckle. He threw his arm over Castiel's chest and kissed him soundly on the lips. "That was awesome, by the way."

Castiel smiled, grateful for the praise. "I believe I understand now why humans enjoy intercouse so much. It was more than I could imagine." His hand found Dean's hair. "You are exhausted. Sleep now."

Dean looked at him groggily. "Won't you get bored?"

"I enjoy watching you sleep."  _I love you_.

"Creeper," Dean said before sleep claimed him and his arm tightened around the angel. Though Castiel did not want to take advantage of the enhanced connection between them, he could have sworn he heard the words reciprocated in his own mind.  _Love you, Cas._


	45. Something to Talk About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning afterglow and certain demons have big plans.

_A/N: Please check out Shercock's/Wincesturf's (her FFN and Tumblr names) awesome fanart. winchesturf dot tumblr dot com/post/47843725018/how-do-u-babies-fanart-for-no mdeplume1313s_

Chapter 45

Something to Talk About

_"'How can you even dream I might be teasing?'_

_'Well, you haven't once said you loved me.'_

_'That's all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I.'_

_'You are teasing me now; aren't you?'_

_'A little maybe; I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. ...'"_

_William Goldman, The Princess Bride_

Dean was sated, warm and happy. It was an unfamiliar combination, given his recent dry spell that had been several months going, now. The warm and happy stuff, that had happened a lot more lately, since Johnny came into his life and acted as a major catalyst in his life as well as with his relationship with Cas. Though Dean would have lost a lot of money if someone would have bet him that  _this_  was coming, he definitely wasn't going to knock it.

Dean had had his fair share of sex in his life, and by many people's standards, what had happened wasn't official sex just yet. But he wasn't dense enough to think that last night wasn't something pretty damned special. He didn't have anything in his own experience to compare it to, and he really wondered if any human had ever felt that. He was suspicious that Cas's being an angel and the whole exchange of Grace might have played a part. Or maybe it was the fact that he cared about the angel, a lot.

"Are you going to continue pretending you are still asleep?" Cas asked in a low voice, and Dean could only grin.

"What'd I tell you about staying out of my head?"

He felt Cas tense beneath him, and all those warm and fuzzies kind of left as Dean looked up at his partner, anxious at just what the problem was. "Cas?" He unwound himself from the angel's body and inched up in bed so he could look him in the eyes. "Dude, after what we did last night, you've got to give me something after freezing up like that just now. You having regrets?"

The angel shook his head. "No. Last night was astounding. More than I could have imagined." Dean smiled at that. Though they hadn't gotten around to  _everything_  yet, he kinda liked that Cas thought he was "astounding." Problem was, if last night was so perfect, what had put Cas on edge now?

"But..."

"But, I believe the intimacy of the moment and how low your defenses were may have given me greater access to your mind. When I asked permission before, it had been with the understanding that I would only perceive your emotions."

"What did you see or hear or... whatever?" Dean asked. Sure he loved the guy, but he didn't want  _anyone_  poking around in his head.

"What I heard—and it is completely reciprocated on my part—is something that I do not believe you were ready to say yet."

Dean didn't even have to think about what his partner must have heard. He knew what he'd thought just before drifting off to sleep.  _Shit. Fucking angel mojo._  Then he looked at Cas, afraid he'd heard that, too. "Did you just hear...?"

Cas shook his head. "The connection faded back to normal, if a bit more sensitive than before, sometime during the night."

Though the hunter knew he could relax at that, his mind kept replaying the words he now  _knew_  Cas had heard. The ones he'd uttered to only two other people, and only in the middle of sex, not before, not after. He thought he was going to hyperventilate.

"I can tell you are suffering anxiety over it, however." Cas looked really guilty, but it wasn't exactly his fault.

"Look, you couldn't help it, right?" Dean said. "So not your fault."

"It feels horribly unfair, however," Cas said. "As I said, it is reciprocated, but the connection cannot go both ways, so you had no idea that I had thought the same thing just moments before."

It was all Dean could do to calm himself enough to look at Cas and ask, "You did?"

"Of course I did. I have been saying it in my own way before I believe even I knew it was the truth."

Slowly but surely, his heart began to return to a normal beat. "Like when you beat me up in that alley?" Dean asked with a wry grin. "Or telling me we have a profound bond?"

"Among other moments, yes," the angel said, and they both relaxed. "Just as I have known for some time that you care about me, even if I did not suspect it was in a romantic nature until recently.

"Did you see my dreams, too?" Dean asked before placing a few feather-light kisses along Cas's neck.

"I did not," the angel said. "I made a very concerted effort to stay out of them. Were they pleasant ones?"

"Sort of, though they shouldn't have been," Dean said, running his hand over the angel's hip. "Got back some memories of Hell and being pulled out. I might even feel guilty about what happened to your wings if I hadn't seen them and know they aren't charred anymore."

"It was a mark of honor in Heaven. You have no reason to feel guilty." The angel turned on his side to kiss Dean softly on his lips. Making out with someone with a five-o'clock shadow was still weird, but the hunter was growing accustomed to it. "It is odd, though, that I was thinking of that moment last night."

"You saying this goes both ways?"

The angel shrugged. "There are accounts of angels and humans being intimate together, even resulting in Nephilim, children between male and female counterparts. But I know of no human possessing an angel's Grace, and even if one existed, I do not imagine the angel and human were ever intimate. I know you value your privacy, so it is my hope that this was a... fluke."

"Yeah, well, if I've got to have an angel in my head, I'd rather it was you, but honestly, I'd prefer it be a solo act up there."

And that was when the baby monitor let them know Johnny was in the process of waking up. Dean groaned, but he knew he should just be grateful the kid had given them last night without interruption. Not that Johnny was prone to waking up in the middle of the night, but he'd heard enough horror stories from parents to know it happened. A lot.

He kissed Cas one more time before sliding out of the bed and grabbing clean clothes from the closet. The angel was quick behind him to get a pair of those stupid but insanely stretchy pants—no way could Dean have fit both his hands under a pair of Cas's wonderfully tight jeans—and a T-shirt. The hunter took one last look at the angel's naked form and caught Cas doing the same to him. It was an amazing ego boost to realize that an angel had the hots for him.

Once they were both dressed and more or less presentable, they got Johnny out of bed and dressed before heading downstairs to face the music.

"What music?"

"It's an expression, Cas."

The moment they both got to the kitchen, Dean could see Sam and Bobby staring at them. Last night, he'd been all confidence and bravado, but today, he wasn't so sure that he liked the fact those two obviously knew what would happen. But if there was anything that Dean did well, it was putting on a mask where necessary, and he hid behind that same bravado like it a kid behind his mother's leg.

"So we're not talking about this?" Sam asked as Dean headed for the baby food cabinet and tried to remember what Johnny had had the day before. He handed a jar of apples and bananas oatmeal over to Cas while he got a cup of coffee for himself. It looked like it had been on the burner for a while, the first sign he might have slept in a bit. The clock on the wall was a better one. Eight o'clock wasn't terrible, but that was a couple of hours lost working on the car.

"Apparently, we're not," Bobby said. "But you're going to need to call Mr. Helmsworth about the Valiant." To Dean's credit, he didn't cringe at the mention of that car. "That was about an hour ago, since you two ended up sleeping in. Or you slept and he stared. I don't pretend to know or want to know what goes on in your bedroom." The younger hunter could have been embarrassed by that, but Dean opted instead for a smug grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows at the angel. Cas responded the way he had when he'd confessed to still being a virgin years before. There should be a law against an angel wearing a grown man's body being that damned adorable. (Words that would never leave the privacy, or semi-privacy, of his own head.)

Dean pulled his cell from the charger and called Mr. Helmsworth while Cas was busy feeding Johnny. As it rang, he caught the angel looking at him with a faint smile, Dean grinned in return. Yeah, being this happy was freaking awesome. "Mr. Helmsworth?" he asked when someone answered. But the guy answering sounded like hell. "It's Dean from Singer Salvage."

"Hell, Dean. Look, I need to talk to you about the Valiant," he said. There was a long pause, and Dean very nearly asked the guy if he was still there. "Apparently, I won't be doing any nice gift gestures for my wife anymore. She's got a boyfriend to do that kind of thing." Dean winced in sympathy for the guy. "So I don't need you to keep working on it."

Well, there went Dean's payday. The biggest part of the labor was still coming up with the body and interior work. The engine—despite a design that looked like it was on its side, or maybe because of it—had been in amazing shape and hadn't needed a lot of manpower. "I'm real sorry to hear that."

"Now, I fully intend to pay you for the work you've already done," Mr. Helmsworth said. "And I have a friend who's got an old 1958 Cadillac he wants to get back on the road, so you should be hearing from him soon." The guy took a deep breath, and Dean couldn't help but feel terrible for him. He'd really loved his wife. He'd have to for him to invest money in fixing up one of the more unpopular cars from the 60s. "I'm feeling a little vindictive here, but I don't really want her to get the car when we start splitting things up. Do you know of anyone who might be interested in that Valiant? It's a stretch, I know."

Dean caught Cas looking at him again and offering that subtle little smile of his. Dean was pretty sure he hadn't heard what Mr. Helmsworth was saying and the look had just been one of affection—which the hunter was still trying to get used to receiving on a permanent basis. "Yeah. I think I might." He made his way out of the garage, feeling Cas's eyes on him the whole time. "Bobby's son, Cas... he's not much of a car guy, and his taste in them shows. But he's taken a liking to the car and could probably do with one of his own." Which meant driving lessons and using Dean's own money to fix the thing up, but he knew he'd do anything to make that stupid winged wonder happy. If he asked for a kitten, Dean would pop allergy pills and adopt a kitten that day. It was what he did for the people he loved, and God help him when Johnny was old enough to start asking for things himself.

"Really? I only paid a couple hundred for it, and I owe you about that in labor, right?"

"Not yet. I haven't even gotten to the body work yet," Dean said. "And you've paid for new tires, brakes, spark plugs and brake lines..."

"Give me fifty and we'll call it even," Mr. Helmsworth said. "I honestly just want to be rid of it."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure. And I'll see what work I can send your way. You were probably counting on the job for that little boy of yours."

Dean thought to argue, but he wasn't going to knock work if it was handed to him. "Thanks," he said. "I'll stop by your store as soon as I'm in town and we'll get this settled."

He hung up the phone and took a look at the weird-ass vehicle that he had to get looking good enough to park next to Baby. It was going to be like putting lipstick on a pig, in his opinion, but even Miss Piggy managed to land Kermit.

#

Castiel found himself in a room with just Bobby for the first time since they had gotten back from New York. Sam had Johnny at the park for some uncle-nephew bonding, and Dean was in the garage sanding down the Valiant and getting started on the body work. And if the angel was grateful to be sitting down because thinking about Dean doing body work meant thinking about Dean taking showers and hosing off half-naked in the back yard, who could blame him?

"So, you and Dean are going to make a go of this," Bobby said.

It took a split second for his mind to catch up to what the hunter was saying and his mental image of Dean hosing himself off outside. "We are."

"And you know him well enough to know that when he lets someone get really close, they have a weapon against him that works better than that angel blade of yours." Bobby set his cup of coffee on the table and sat beside Castiel. "You hurt him or betray him again, it'll tear him apart. If you two were still just friends, I'd say it would still kill him a little inside, but now, with this... between the two of you, it would do a kind of damage that is something no one can fix."

Castiel knew Bobby well enough by now to be aware he would not take kindly to any form of interruption, even though the angel wanted desperately to argue with him. "I have no intention of hurting him again. And even when I did, I did it for him."

"I know. You learned the Winchester brand of love, which means doing completely irrational things for the people you care about most. But I'm telling you. Don't. You've got to exercise a little self preservation and just think about what you're doing and how it will affect him. If you don't do that, I'm finding a banishing ritual that you won't come back from, and if one doesn't exist, I'll make one."

The angel might scoff at such a declaration if it were made by any other human, but he didn't doubt Bobby's words, and even if the man was unsuccessful at actually creating such a ritual, Castiel didn't doubt his attempts would be painful, and at least mildly successful. "I will promise to think before doing something reckless or potentially harmful to Dean, physically or emotionally. We have discussed being open with one another to whatever extent possible."

"You better hold Dean to that, too. Because he's pretty lousy at opening up."

There was the sound of the door slamming and Dean yelling, "Hey, Bobby, do you have the number for the paint shop?"

"Did they send the wrong green?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Swapping it for white on the outside."

"I thought Mr. Helmsworth wanted to keep the car original," Castiel said, though he imagined the white with the chrome accents could be quite interesting and much more subtle than in the car's original metallic green.

"Apparently, a sea foam green car turned his stomach," Dean said. Castiel couldn't be sure but he detected a bit of dishonesty from Dean, but there was a sort of happiness at the dishonesty. As Dean tended to exude guilt when he was lying to family, Castiel could only assume that this so-called "white lie" was nothing to insidious.

Dean came to stand behind the angel as Bobby pulled a number from the rolodex on his desk that must have been decades old. The hunter's hands at first rested on Castiel's shoulders, but his thumbs soon began to rub along his muscles at his upper back and neck. The feeling was amazing. It was both arousing and far too relaxing to spur on Castiel's sexual drive. It made the hairs of his arms stand up and caused an odd tingling sensation in the nerves at either side of his neck.

The angel closed his eyes and made a soft, low sound in his throat. "I think if he were a cat, he'd be purring right now," Bobby said, obviously having come back into the kitchen, but Castiel didn't have the energy to look. He didn't much care to, either.

"Silly us. All this time we were trying to take down angels and all we had to do was give them a little shoulder rub to turn them in to happy little kittens."

"It would have made my battle against Raphael considerably easier," Castiel said before humming his appreciation once again. He heard the card hit the table with a tiny smacking noise when the phones that still lined the wall began to ring.

That's the number." Castiel could hear Bobby going to man the phone,s but he really was quite happy to stay right where he was. He was half afraid that Dean might stop once he had the phone number, but the hunter didn't seem to be in any hurry.

"So, Sam's offered to keep Johnny for the day, and I need to head to town anyway to talk over some things with Mr. Helmsworth. Why don't we grab some lunch, maybe catch the new Batman movie?"

"Does that require leaving here and you stopping what you are doing right this moment?" Castiel asked.

"Unfortunately," Den replied. "But my hands would get tired anyway. I'm only human you know."

Languidly, Castiel opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at his partner, who snickered just at the sight of him so relaxed. "Is this a date?"

"Well … yeah. More or less. Sort of a lunch date."

The angel smiled. "Then I suppose can forgive you stopping your work on my shoulders."

#

So, apparently bringing a baby to a park and explaining that no, he didn't have a wife, and no he's not his son but his nephew who you want to spend time with earned Sam a lot of attention from the women at the park. Though he didn't want it to happen, if things fell through with Emma, Sam knew he wouldn't hurt for other women to date. Johnny was a magnet.

At the moment, though, that wasn't really the biggest thing on his mind.

"What do you think," Sam asked Johnny as he pushed him on the swing. "Your Dad's got a mechanic business that looks like it might really take off, and we don't seem to be hunting as much as we used to now that we're cooperating with the network of hunters Andrea set up. So, I'm thinking about law school again. Maybe doing trusts and estates, some contracts. It's nothing you'll ever be interested in or brag to your friends about the cool stuff your Uncle Sammy does at his job. It would be flexible, though, so I could still hunt after I graduated." Johnny was watching him intently over his shoulder, but offered no advice—not that Sam expected any from a child who was barely more than one.

"Not to mention that if your dad can set down roots, and you have no idea how huge that is, then maybe I can get an apartment in town, have a place to stay when Emma comes to visit." Someplace quieter than the house was last night. Sam shuddered to think about it. He and Bobby had ended up watching "Enter the Dragon" with the volume inexcusably loud so they didn't have to hear the lovebirds upstairs.

Johnny suddenly began making noises and babbling, but before Sam could look for himself to see the cause, he heard it. "Johnny!" a little girl's voice rang through the park. Sam saw Fallyn charging toward them, pulling her mother behind her. Her little braids with colorful barrettes swung about as she looked between Johnny and her mother.

Ramona's hair was pulled into a ponytail that emphasized the mohawk-style cut of her hair, and she grinned just as broadly when she saw Sam and Johnny as her daughter.

"I see you got back from your trip in one piece," she said as she placed Fallyn into the swing beside Johnny. Immediately, the little girl began chattering away to Johnny, who for his part, attempted to chatter right back. "It seems like it was a productive trip since I saw your brother and Cas at the Mexican place having lunch together."

"Good. They took me up on my suggestion," Sam said, then realized that this woman had actually tried dating his brother and that might be more than a little insensitive. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize, Sam," she said as she gave Fallyn a push. "Dean has a giant handprint on his arm, and if that isn't a brand, I don't know what is."

"Didn't he tell you how that happened?" Sam asked.

"Sure. He told me what he  _tells_  people happened. But I work at a hospital. I've worked in  _this_  hospital, specifically, for the last six years." She looked at Sam expectantly, and when he didn't seem to realize whatever it was she was trying to get him to comprehend, she sighed. "If Dean had been burned chemically, he would have more scars, and he's practically scar-free except for that one. Cas's hand would also be burned, but it's clear, too. And, like I said, I've been at that hospital for a few years."

She kept emphasizing the Sioux Falls hospital specifically and how long she'd been there. "Oh."

"And the hamster is up and running again," she said with a friendly grin. "People start coming back from the dead, you tend to hear about that in the hospital system. Just like when they go full-on zombie, you hear about who took them down. Thanks, by the way. I thought your brother was cute when we met, and I knew he was the Dean who fought against the reanimated corpses the moment he told me who he was and his connection to Bobby Singer. I didn't say anything because I got the impression he was aiming for a little bit of normal."

Fallyn asked her mother to push her higher, with a please added on for good measure. "But that mark. I knew you weren't just brave souls who let the fight, normal guys who stepped up. Not when I saw that. I think you were trained in the weird."

"And you're not running for the hills?" Sam asked, more than a little surprised.

"When the shit hits the fan, you want to be standing next to the guy with an open umbrella."

"Mommy, you aid a bad word," Fallyn said as she pumped her legs not quite in time with her swings.

"Why did I decide to do a swear jar?"

#

"I need to know what you know about the Winchesters," Meg said as she gently caressed the captive angel's face. "Because word is that heaven has taken a special interest in them, even though the Apocalypse is supposedly done with."

Bela was standing in the corner, watching the angel for any tells as he answered their question.

Meg drew the angel blade down his arm, watching as more of his Grace started to leech away. They had to keep the angel weak, but alive. "Come now, Inias," she said as she circled him inside the ring of holy fire. "You have to know something about them."

"I'm sure I know nothing that you do not."

"Try me." Another line of blue Grace followed the tip of the angel blade as she dragged it across his other arm. "I can guess they're staying with Singer, and Castiel is probably there, too. But I need to know if heaven has any plans for them, special protections out on the brothers, a green room ready for Dean again." Just some indication that her lord wasn't really gone.

"If they did, I am not high ranking enough to know about it, and even if I had heard even a rumor, do you think I would turn against my own brother?" It was a shame. Inias truly didn't seem to know anything, which meant he was useless to her and she was going to have to go with plan B.

Meg jut a thin slice down the angel's chest. "Maybe while you let that heal, you can think about it." She took a running jump over the holy flames—she wasn't prevented from crossing them, but they burned a demon like a son of a bitch.

She was out of the room, but not out of earshot when she heard Bela say, "You may not have information for her, but let's see if you can't be more helpful to me."


	46. Machinations and Manipulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bela begins the path to revenge.

" _If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there." Anton Chekhov._

Inias feared the demon called Bela, even more than the dark-haired one who went by the name Meg, though he knew that her real name was much older. It said something about his intense fear of the obviously younger demon that  _she_  was the one who made him experience real terror, given that he knew Meg was Azazel's daughter, and there had been no better "disciplinarian" in all of Heaven than he had been before he was tossed from Heaven and into humanity. Perhaps it was her upbringing by the fallen angel played a role in it, after all. Meg had her father's precision and methodical technique.

Meg could rigorously torture him for hours on end before resting for the night—though they appeared to be underground in a facility with many wards drawn on the walls above the shelves of old canned food and military-issue cots. She asked questions that Inias could not answer because they were beyond his realm of knowledge. He knew nothing about Michael and Lucifer beyond their fate to the cage, nothing more on the council and its members, or why the Winchesters spent so much of their time in the company of angels.

The difficulty with the time when Meg would leave was Bela took over and demonstrated none of the older demon's restraint. There was no predicting what she would do, how severely, or to what part of his body. Where Meg was like suffering Chinese water torture, Bela was the cat's claw, shredding him up so that his Grace could only barely recover in time for Meg to pick up the blade once again.

And what was worse, was that Bela asked questions he  _did_  know the answers to.

…

"I've heard that Dean Winchester has a child. Is that true?"

It was.

"I do not know." She slashed open his thigh.

…

"Why does he have an angel with him at all times?"

They were in a romantic relationship. All of Heaven had been talking about it.

"They are close friends." She began peeling back the skin on his chest.

…

"How do I summon Dean Winchester's angel?"

It was not a complicated spell, one all angels knew for the basic serephs and cupids. That included knowing the minor changes to summon one particular angel over another.

"It is not something we share with one another, to keep that secret safe." She followed the path of his bones as she dug the blade into his arm.

…

"Is Dean Winchester happy?"

"I would not know." Hunters have skinned animals with less skill than this demon with the British accent that was either her own or borrowed from her victim.

"Do you know where I learned to do this?"

"I would assume in Hell."

"But do you know from whom?" She leaned close to his ear and whispered. "From Dean Winchester. He was so skilled with a razor. He could almost make it a work of art, in a very perverse way, as long as you weren't his canvas for the evening." She let the blade slide beneath the skin at his ribs. "A cut there." She slid it down. "A slash there." She changed directions. "And you're protecting him." She pulled out the blade and allowed Inais' Grace to heal him. The mix of relief and pain made him cry for the very first time in his existence.

"I don't want to hurt the angel. Just send him away long enough to make Dean pay."

#

Meg returned after a night at the local watering hole, a little dive bar, to find the Cold War-era bunker deathly silent. It wasn't unusual for Bela to leave in frustration, but she usually left a moaning, wheezing angel behind. The single lightbulb run from a generator topside revealed the scorchmarks of wings covering the walls and shelves of rations.

"This is why we can't have nice things." She sighed and turned to climb the ladder out of the bunker. "I guess she got the answer she wanted."

#

Dean was in the process of sanding off the body putty from the Valiant. He'd been doing double duty the last few days since the Cadillac came. He still had to keep up pretenses with the Valiant so Cas didn't get suspicious, but in the meantime, he needed to work on the actual paying gig.

When Cas showed up in the garage, he looked like a kicked puppy. And, Dean supposed, he could understand why. After all, the hunter decided to wear a head-to-toe painter's suit so he wouldn't lose time trying to get the red dust off, but even if he'd  _wanted_  to hose off in the back yard, knowing what it did to the angel, he couldn't. Emma was visiting, and Dean didn't even  _try_  to pretend that he and Cas were quiet when they fell into bed together.

He stopped sanding and pulled the mask from his face. Though Cas still looked disappointed, he did at least look a little amused at the triangular mark of unreddened skin Dean knew it left in its wake. "What's up?"

"I am going to take Johnny to the park," Cas said. "Ramona is bringing Fallyn for a 'playdate.' I believe she is disappointed you will not be there."

"Dude, you aren't jealous, are you?" Dean asked, swearing he heard a little of it tinging his partner's words.

"I have no reason to be," Cas said, and Dean didn't miss that it wasn't really an answer or that it very nearly sounded like a question.

"No, you don't. In fact, Sammy said Ramona's happy for us. And apparently thinks we're into some really kinky shit because she thinks you've 'branded' me." Immediately, the angel's eyes went to Dean's shoulder, and he tentatively stuck out his tongue to swipe at his lips. Dean had seen that look on Cas's face, and it was usually related to sexy-times, or at least being very turned on. "Did you?" he asked, suddenly not so sure about his mark.

Cas's eyes met Dean's. "No. The mark was unintentional. Though some may view it as a … brand." And the baby blues went back to Dean's arm as though he could see through the disposable coveralls. For all Dean knew, he could.

"Earth to Cas," Dean said, waving his hand in front of the angel, who quickly snapped his attention back to the man's face. The hunter rolled his eyes and kissed the angel quickly, trying to avoid covering him in the red dust. "Go on. You might as well get used to Ramona. Her kid's old enough that she  _should_  think Johnny's boring as hell, but Fallyn likes him for some reason, so I'm going to guess those two ladies are going to be a fixture around our family for a long time."

"There certainly is that potential," Cas said.

"What's that mean?"

"Johnny and Fallyn's souls are in harmony," the angel answered. "Not unlike yours and Sam's, though they have a different relationship, so how that manifests itself could likewise be different."

"You saying what I think you're saying?" Dean could only imagine a grown-up Fallyn would keep Johnny on his toes, and he was pretty sure if they made him a granddad, those kids would probably have him wrapped around their little fingers.

"You should not put the cart before the horse," Cas said, knowingly. "And before you get angry, I was not in your head. I could tell by your smile. You get a very far-off look in your eyes, and then there is a slow grin..."

Dean shut him up forcibly with another kiss, one that was a little less careful about the red dust. He really wasn't used to someone knowing him well enough to guess what he was thinking just because he smiled a little different, and he wasn't capable of really wrapping his mind around it at that moment. "Go to the park. I need to prime the trunk. Shouldn't take more than an hour or so at this point. Then I'll head to down and we can hit up the diner."

Cas wasn't the only one good at this sort of thing, because Dean could tell when he saw the angel's lips quirk up at his left side that this was his goofy grin. It meant the guy was happy, which made Dean happy.

Dean felt like he was growing ovaries or something.

Cas grabbed the stroller from the back wall behind the blue tarp—because if he was going to keep up the pretense that he  _walked_  the couple of mile to the park rather than flew there, it wasn't going to be believable if he showed up carrying Johnny—and headed out of the garage.

"Now I don't feel so bad about thinking you were a couple before."

"Like you felt guilty before," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. "And it's not polite to eavesdrop."

"I  _did_." Emma insisted. "I was so embarrassed when it hit me that you went along with the story because you needed a cover for why you were there with Johnny and investigating those skinwalkers. Sam thought it was hysterical. He had no sympathy for me." She headed for the tarp and pulled out some of the grilling supplies. "Speaking of which, he wants to make dinner tonight. He bought the stuff for turkey burgers and grilled vegetables."

Dean twisted his face in response, not just for his brother's choice in foods. "I hope you like the flavor of charcoal."

"Which is why I'm sticking close while he's cooking. And I have your cell phone number if all else fails and we need you to pick something up from the diner."

"Will do," Dean said. He was long past regretting that he hadn't gotten the chance to sleep with the blonde and was instead grateful that his brother had a girlfriend he actually liked for once. Then again, Ruby hadn't set the bar too high on that number.

"I'll leave you to your sanding," she said, patting his back and sending up a cloud of red dust.

#

"I have him in my sights. He is with another kid and her mom, but I overheard her saying she had to take the girl to her dad's."

Bela had nearly completed the angel protection sigils. It would take very little to finish them at this point, a few swishes of an aerosol can. She had to make sure her guest could come in, but be able to prevent other unwanted parties from following. Aside from this Castiel and Bela, herself, this was going to be a strictly human affair.

"And he hasn't noticed you there?" she asked her old contact, a private investigator who often staked out the objects she would steal.

"He sees I'm here with my dog," he assured her. Good for Greg, hiding himself in plain sight. "He even smiled at me. Though he eyed up Tramp pretty seriously."

"I need you to tell me when something very specific happens," she said. "I need him alone, and I need him holding the kid. If a big black Impala comes rolling along, we are already too late and we have to do this another day."

"Very needy, Bela." She growled at him, frustrated by his flippancy when this was so serious. "Relax, I've got it," he said, staying on the line with her as he instructed his dog to take a poop. "Does Tramp need to go poo-poo?"

"Honestly, Greg?" she asked as she completed a circle of holy oil. There was something about talking to him again after all those years in hell that almost made her feel like her old self again. "'Does Tramp need to go poo-poo?'"

"Shut it," he said.

Bela wrapped her arm around the metal bowl and looked around what had once been a package-shipping facility. When the real estate agents came around trying to sell the spot, they would be in for a surprise and probably assume Satan worshipers were the source of the vandalism. Considering what Bela had become, maybe it wasn't so far from the truth, though she honestly couldn't care about Lucifer and Michael. Her partnership with Meg had been one of convenience, not a common goal.

And now she was done with her.

"The woman is leaving and the angel and the boy are alone in the toddler section of the playground."

Bela prepped a match to set the entire concoction ablaze and waited until the voice in her bluetooth said, "They're alone."

The match hit the herbs and other items she had gathered for the ritual Inias had told her—one which matched what she could find on summoning similar angels—and then tossed the ashes into the circle of holy oil to ensure that was where the angel landed.

"He disappeared," Greg's voice said in shock. "They both did."

"All this time with me, and the supernatural still surprises you?"

"Curses I'm used to. You just made this guy pull a vanishing act." At that, Bela turned off her headset.

A stunned-looking man holding a wide-eyed little boy suddenly appeared in front of Bela. Being this close to an angel, one that was obviously more powerful than Inias had something inside the demon crawling, like ants in her veins. He might look like a man, but he was definitely something else. The boy, though, that was a normal kid, as far as she could tell. And that would work out just beautifully.

She struck several matches at once and set the ring of holy oil on fire.

"Castiel, Angel of Thursday, and John Gabriel Winchester. What a pleasure to finally meet you both." Bela picked up the spray can and completed the sigils, which consequently locked the angel inside and prevented any of his siblings from finding him. "I don't think we've gotten to properly meet."

#

Emma hadn't been happy that Sam had sent her away from the grill while he got it set up. It didn't bode well for how much he would let her help him when it came time to actually cook. If he didn't even want her help  _now_ , as he headed for the garage in search of more charcoal, she had getting a sneaking suspicion that one of those briquettes might resemble her meal for the night. He might be unbelievably intelligent, but he was barely able to boil water.

When she heard the knock at the door, she thought Dean would probably be relieved. He was waiting on seats to come for the car that everyone, save for Cas, knew he was fixing up for his boyfriend. The vinyl seats he had picked especially for the car he seemed to secretly hate hadn't been cheap on Dean's current budget, and he checked every day to see where they were in transit.

Emma hadn't been expecting a dark-haired woman to be on the other side of the door.

"Oh, you must be Sam's new girl," she said. "You're cute. I can see why he likes you."

"Are you Ramona?" Emma asked.

"Nah." Her dark eyes practically twinkled. "Name's Meg."

"Do you want to come inside or...?" Emma asked, though if this Meg was the same Meg Sam had warned her about, she wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm afraid not. I willingly walked myself into a devil's trap, so I'm stuck here." Meg pointed up above here where the symbol had been painted on the ceiling.

Though Emma hadn't wanted to eat Sam's cooking, she could have done without encountering her first demon face to face. "This whole house is warded, and I have an anti-possession tattoo. Before you or anyone else you have out there gets any ideas." She tried to sound more confident than she honestly felt as her hand was on the bottle of holy water kept on a rack by the door, next to a rifle loaded with rock salt.

"I come in peace. Go get the wonder twins. I'll be here."

"I don't know what century you died in, but we have cell phones now," Emma said as she pulled hers out of her pocket and held the two liter bottle at the ready to dump over the woman across from her. With the other hand, she quickly texted to Sam, "Meg here. Stuck in trap."

"You and Sam been dating long?"

"A few months," Emma said, deciding that small talk was better than a staring contest with a demon. She glanced from the woman's face to a leather cord around her neck. She made jewelry for a living and could hardly help herself. "Interesting necklace."

"Oh, this?" Meg said, lifting it up and giving Emma a better look at the thing. "I got this in Iraq. It's a Sumerian evil eye. The shop keeper told me it would give me … reassurance, is probably the best translation for it."

"Demons need reassurance?" She could hear Sam charging through the house like, well, a moose on a rampage, and she caught a glimpse of Dean making his way around the house through the picturesque front yard holding the unusual knife that could kill demons.

"If you had managed to escape an eternity of torture, wouldn't you want some reassurances?" Dean was closer and Sam was nearly to the door. Meg merely rolled her eyes and continued to stand under the circle with her hip canted and arms crossed at her chest. "Boys, really. We worked together to try to catch Crowley, and I come here offering information that you, trust me, want, and this is the greeting I get?" Meg shook her head and "tsked" at the two hunters, though her body language and eyes had neither searched them out or given any indication she'd actually seen them.

"Considering you've had no contact with us for more than a year, and your endgame is probably still to set Lucifer free..." Sam had a gun pointed at Meg, though Emma wasn't sure what damage it would do to the demon inside the woman she was using as a vessel. "No, sorry. We don't really trust you."

"You two are wising up. About damned time," she said with a wry grin. Meg placed her hands at her hips and seemed to measure up the two men. "But seriously, do we want to know what's happened to baby Winchester and Clarence, or are we going to keep up the pissing contest? Not that I'm not willing to give that one the old college try."

Both men paled and Emma found herself wanting to grab the holy water and douse the messenger, not necessarily kill her, for stalling so long on information that was so important.

#

Castiel was still relatively new to fear; he'd experienced it only in the last few years since meeting Dean, and only a handful of times in that period. He'd felt varying degrees of it, from the fear of near-certain death when facing against one of his more powerful brothers to the gnawing worry that Dean would not be able to move past the fact that the angel lusted after him, though this had been proven a pointless fear quite enthusiastically by them both. Naturally, Castiel had at times feared for Dean's life, for Sam's and Bobby's as well, and been in the position where he was unable to help them.

Nothing compared to gutwrenching sensation that came with the inability to keep his son safe. Because if there was one person on this whole planet Castiel  _should_  have been able to protect, it was Johnny. But as the boy's right hand tightened in the angel's gray T-shirt and whimpered in his ear, he felt more defenseless than he had wearing the amulet. His powers were dampened, though not gone entirely, and he was at least able to see that Johnny had been upset by their sudden travel, but was unharmed. To the best of Castiel's knowledge, no human had ever been carried along when an angel was involuntarily summoned, and this demon could well have killed the boy in bringing the angel to this empty facility when she did.

And that disregard for Johnny's safety fueled an anger he'd not experienced since the skinwalkers. It was, perhaps, even worse because now this little boy called him Tata and fell asleep to his tuneless humming, and when he was confused by what someone else was doing, he cocked his head to the side. This was  _his son,_  and he would be as damned as she was before she harmed him.

"You  _do_  realize that you can't do anything in there, right?" the demon asked. She wasn't a psychic, but she was obviously skilled at reading body language.

"But I can plan what I intend to do to you  _after_ I get out."

"That really isn't going to be an issue." She paced around the circle. "Because I'm going to get what I want first." She looked at Johnny with an appraising eye. "I am going to guess he's not Dean's biologically. He has some similar traits, but his features are all wrong. Your friend Inias wasn't sure."

"What did you do to Inias?" Castiel asked, his voice low and threatening.

"I just made him talk. It took a little convincing, but luckily for me, I had an excellent teacher in the art of persuasion." The demon, who was currently inhabiting the body of a young Indian woman, said as she circled Castiel. "The torture didn't break him, as I am sure you will be proud to hear. It was the knowledge of where I learned to torture." She offered a sadistic and bitter smile. "Do you know what he called your lover when he realized that it had been Dean who taught me this craft?"

Castiel did not bother to answer. Knowing creatures like her, those seeking revenge or retribution, they could hardly act without a great deal of fanfare and talk, even when not prodded to do so.

"He called Dean Winchester a monster who had only served to create more monsters in his wake." She shook her head, sending the long, dark ponytail behind her shaking with the movement. "But he cried. He sobbed and hoped you might hear him and his pleas for forgiveness for what he had done. I don't believe he had ever cried before. He seemed so surprised when he had."

Though he suspected the answer to this, he asked anyway. "And where is he now?"

"Dead, I'm afraid." She sat on a stack of discarded boxes, like a small throne of cardboard. "By the by, I am Bela Talbot."


	47. Bringing in the Cavalary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters get a little bit of help and prepare to take down Bela and get Johnny and Cas back to safety.

" _And now... farewell to kindness, humanity and gratitude. I have substituted myself for Providence in rewarding the good; may the God of vengeance now yield to me His place to punish the wicked." Alexandre Dumas, Count of Monte Cristo_

Finding the Winchester brothers pointing a weapons at her wasn't exactly an unusual experience for Meg; it almost brought back "fond memories." But, she had bigger fish to fry and information she was sure they wanted. She'd already gotten the answer to her own questions the moment she saw Sam walk up, and if it had given her a little hope for once, well, what did it matter if she was temporarily stuck here now?

"Boys, it's usually tradition to shoot the messenger _after_ they deliver the bad news. I haven't even told you what's happened to Clarence and Dean Junior."

It was odd, she thought, how Dean's freckles stood out on his face when he was as pale as he was now. "What did you do to them?" Sam asked. He had a gun and Dean had the knife that could kill her, so while Sam could hurt her, Meg did her best to never let Dean out of her peripheral vision, at the very least.

"I know you're going to find this very hard to believe, but it wasn't me," she said with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. "Thanks to betting on the wrong horse in the Apocalypse—though, really, who saw you guys coming out of nowhere to put Lucifer _and_ Michael in their place—I'm not exactly top of the totem pole in Hell." She crossed her arms and looked firmly at Dean and then Sam. "It only made matters worse that I helped you two try to take out Crowley. Nice job on that, by the way."

Sam looked a little confused at that, but when she saw realization dawn across his features and watched him wince, Meg wondered if it really was true he couldn't remember that period when he was soulless.

"Where are they?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. I just know that Bela's got it out for you." She wouldn't have thought Dean could get paler, but he did.

"Bela? Bela Talbot?" Sam asked, giving an innocent, questioning look that no man a year shy of thirty should have been able to achieve. "So, she went full demon in Hell." Apparently, Sam had held some hope that she wasn't a lost cause and might come out of it all like his brother, but Dean had always been a special case. Meg turned her attention to the older brother as Sam asked his next question. "Why does she have a grudge against you? Because you got out and she didn't?"

The blonde girlfriend was fidgeting in Meg's peripheral vision. The demon wondered if Dean's time in Hell was new news for her or it just made her uncomfortable.

"Because she was the one they put on the rack in my place," Dean said. He answered Sam's question without giving any more away to the man's girlfriend. There was something in the look the taller brother gave the woman that seemed to imply she would get a fuller story later. Meg never thought she'd see either of these two in anything resembling a healthy relationship, but it looked like they'd both defied the odds.

"Where is Bela now?" Sam asked her. Apparently, if any discussions were going to follow about Dean's time in hell, they were going to come later.

"I don't know," Meg said, and the younger hunter took a menacing step toward her. "She wants revenge on Dean, more than anything, so I'm going to assume she didn't venture far. And she was using her old human contacts, so the old tricks..." She pointed up to the devil's trap above her head. "...aren't going to work on all of her people. Maybe not on any of them at all."

She'd barely finished talking before she heard Dean praying to her left. "Balthazar, Metatron, Azrael, we have an emergency. _Please_ get down here," Meg heard a desperate edge to the man's voice.

The demon had to admit she was a little unsettled that Dean was calling on such big guns. She thought she had planned this all pretty thoroughly: she'd tell the brothers about Bela and consequently get her answers, the boys would go after the demon and win (because she knew better than to underestimate either of them), and be eternally grateful to Meg for her assistance. Even on the long shot that Bela won, she wanted revenge on Dean, and Meg could tell her she had just expedited that. What Meg hadn't really counted on Dean's willingness to call on heavenly back-up for Clarence and Junior.

And though Meg was sure the Winchesters might be happy to let her go, she wasn't so certain about two archangels and a seraph best known for going rogue.

Almost immediately, the three appeared in the yard at the foot of the porch steps. The taller one was Balthazar; he'd been described to Meg a few times back when he was working for Castiel. He certainly met the descriptions, though he looked much less blasé about the situation than the stories of him led her to believe he would. Apparently, he'd been loyal to Clarence for more the sake of rebelling.

The woman had to be Azrael. She gave Meg the chills just to look at her, and not the normal, angel-skin-crawling that usually came when she got within a hundred feet of the things. Azrael was powerful, always had been, according to her father. She wasn't powerful in any way like the other archangels, which made it a damned shame her vessel's lineage was so homely (which was quite possibly an understatement). Azrael was probably doing her meatsuit a favor, hijacking that body and putting the human out of her misery. Her reedlike frame, thin face, and limp brown hair did at least add to the whole creepy factor.

Then there was the third one, Metatron, the human lifted above his station with her father's Grace. She'd been taught to hate him for years now, because God had looked favorably on him while her own father had been punished. It looked as though, as an added reward, he'd been given back his human body—because no angel moved and held themselves that comfortably in a new vessel, and Metatron had been infamous for constantly shifting. She wondered if there might be a third bonus in the works for the olive-skinned angel. He stood remarkably close to Balthazar, and it was obvious they were comfortable with one another.

She was curious if they'd fucked yet.

"Where's Johnny?" Balthazar asked. "And Cassie?"

Cassie? Meg personally preferred Clarence. "Bela Talbot has them," she said, and suddenly all eyes were turned to her. "She has been torturing an angel, Inais, to get info, and she got it. She's got a grudge against Dean." The two male angels looked momentarily pained at the loss of their brother—or Carebear cousin in Metatron's case—but Azrael seemed unaffected.

"I was already aware of what he told her," Azreal said. Of course, she did. She guided dead angels to wherever they went when they died.

"And you didn't tell anyone?" Dean asked, sounding surprisingly hurt for a guy who seemed to think all angels except for his main squeeze were assholes.

"She did," said a new voice at the back of the three angels, and just this thing's presence made Meg really wish she could turn tail and run. She knew that feeling, that creeping, electric sensation that came whenever anyone was in the presence of the original four, Lucifer included. It certainly didn't help when combined with whatever the hell power Azrael had. She honestly felt a little sick. "Hello, Sam, Deano."

#

Johnny clung to his Tata and tried to bury his face in the warm place at his neck. The stuff around them was bright and hot, his Tata was tense and holding him a little too tight, and that strange woman was talking, using that word people used for his Dada, and she sounded so angry. The bright lights around them were hot and scary, and Tata couldn't seem to get away.

His Tata said something strange, and it made the lady laugh. Johnny didn't like her laugh.

It made him want to cry, but his Tata was scratching the back of his head and had his arm wrapped around his back and behind. It didn't make him feel a lot better, and he still sobbed quietly, but when he wasn't talking to the woman, Tata made soft noises to him, and it helped him feel safe. Just like the feeling of his wings.

Johnny couldn't see them, but he knew they were there. He could feel them wrapped around him, even though they weren't soft like usually. They were kind of prickly but they were still Tata's wings, and that meant they were okay.

#

"We need to scope out the area," Gabriel said, though Sam was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the angel wasn't dead. "And pay special attention to anywhere that just doesn't feel right or that is completely blocked to us. We're going to need some non-angels on the ground, and I think we've got that covered."

To everyone's surprise, when they called Bobby at Jody's house, she had put out a call to her department with a code Sam wasn't familiar with. According to Bobby, it was the "weird Winchester shit" code. It was odd having the police on their side for once. Dean was busy spending his time looking for any abandoned retail and warehouse spaces in the vicinity. If this was about revenge, Bela would be sticking close enough so that Dean could easily find her handiwork. He was keeping himself busy because otherwise, he would go charging into the town like a madman.

"Someone has to stay behind with the demon and Emma," Metatron said. "No offense to you, Emma, but if Bela has an ax to grind, you might be the next target, and we're not letting her go..." He gestured to Meg. "...at least, not without being sure she's not involved. I volunteer myself. I think together we can hold down the fort."

The idea of Bela coming after Emma made every muscle in Sam's chest clench. He was already half-sick and furious, but he needed to be rational and to help to plan. Dean was lost in his anger and the only reason he hadn't started to tear out of the driveway in the Impala was because he didn't know where to go. The moment he got even an inkling, though, Sam knew he'd be gone, plan be damned.

Emma grabbed his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. She was obviously fearful, but she looked downright pissed. She had begun to be a part of their motley family, and she seemed to be as ready to protect it as any of the others. It made Sam want to kiss her almost as much as he wanted to kill Bela.

He glanced again at Dean, using Sam's computer, lost to the hunt and his desire for revenge. Sam knew that after this was all over, someone was going to have to be on a suicide watch for Dean, because even if Johnny and Cas were rescued with no problem, Dean wasn't going to forgive himself any time soon.

"We'll take to the skies, see what we can find," Gabriel said.

"Or not find, if it's totally blocked," Balthazar added. He pulled out a phone from his pocket. "I'll give you a call as soon as we know anything."

Azrael needed no more instruction before she was gone, Balthazar and Gabriel followed suit shortly after.

Dean was halfway to the Impala, and Sam had to run to keep up. "Keep her safe," he yelled to Metatron before giving Emma one last look. Considering his track record, he was admittedly terrified this would be the last he'd see her.

"Bring them back!" she called after him.

#

"You are angry with Dean for giving in on the rack and at me for failing to retrieve you from Hell. I fail to understand why you must keep talking about it," Castiel said. Every time Bela spoke up, spewing her hatred at Dean or at the angel, she frightened Johnny. Oddly enough, it had been at its worst when the angel had attempted an exorcism ritual on her. She then laughed and bared her arm to him, showing the mark she'd branded into it. He knew it well enough to know that nothing he could say would send her anywhere, but her laughter had still left Johnny unsettled.

"It's the only way I can show any restraint not to finish you both off and let Dean find your bodies." The tall, lean woman paced around the circle. He tried to imagine how she had looked before taking this vessel, and not out of mere curiosity. He hoped by figuring out her past he could uncover her weakness. He felt as though there was something just at the edge of his memory, but he could not quite retrieve it. "You know, I'm rather unimpressed with you. I thought angels were ruthless, would do anything necessary to take out a threat. I understand you once got out of holy fire by throwing Meg into it and stepping on her body to get out."

She smiled, almost genuinely, and Castiel honestly believed that her vessel had probably had a very sweet smile before being taken over by the revenge-obsessed demon. "I was even nice enough to give you an escape route." She gestured to Johnny.

Castiel had never been one for visceral reactions, largely because he had no real bodily functions to speak of, but he certainly experienced one at the thought of throwing his son into the flames and stepping over him in order to escape. Even if Johnny could survive, even if Castiel could manage to fix the damage done to body and mind, he knew he would never get that image out of his mind if he went through with it. He was sure it would remain even though he hadn't done it.

"It won't take them long to find you," she said. "I haven't exactly been secretive about this place. I did just enough to buy some time, to watch you and his brat squirm." She sat again on the stack of boxes and crossed her legs as though they were about to have a pleasant chat. "So tell me, what it is about Dean Winchester that makes him so special that you can overlook the fact that he is, as Inais so artfully put it, 'a monster'?"

Castiel gently scratched at Johnny's scalp in an attempt to calm him and to remind himself that the little boy was safe and whole for now. "Because he has the most resilient soul." He tried to picture this woman without being distorted by the effects of becoming a demon had made her ugly and twisted. "Because even in Hell and knowing he had a reprieve, he begged for me to save you instead. 'She only traded her soul because she was molested. She was just a child.'"

Something in the woman wavered at that, and Castiel thought that, perhaps, he had gotten through to her. But as quickly as the change had appeared in her expression, it faded back to hatred. "And why didn't you listen? Why did you leave me?"

"Because I was sent to retrieve Dean," the angel answered. "At the time, we were told he was to be a tool in stopping the devil and the Apocalypse. And he was, though not in the way anyone believed he would be."

She stood from the boxes and neared the flames surrounding them. "You angels are just as worthless as I thought you were when I was a girl."She pointed an accusing finger at the trapped angel. You don't help anyone.! You don't … you don't do anything to make this place better. You're just part of the problem." And for just a moment, under hate, beneath the disfigurement of becoming a demon, was the soul of a scared, damaged young girl. And perhaps Castiel felt a twinge of guilt, because at least some of her condemnations were well deserved. After all, how could he maintain the old argument that he was not there to perch on a human's shoulder while at the same time he was doing his very best to comfort a frightened child?

#

The demon, who was apparently going by the name of Meg despite having a much older name given to her by Azazel millennia ago, was seated casually in the wicker chair he had offered her. He wasn't thrilled with playing host to her, but she had taken a leap of faith that the Winchesters wouldn't kill her if she provided this information.

Metatron needed to find out why.

"So, when you're the one who got my father's Grace," she said as she turned slightly in the chair and propped on leg up on the seat. "He _hated_ you. He remembered being an angel back when I was a little girl and began searching for his Grace. He never found it while he was still human, and when he found out what had actually happened to it, he was pissed." She laughed, almost as though it was a pleasant memory. With a father like Azazel, it wouldn't be surprising. Nature or nurture probably didn't matter when it came to turning Meg into a sadist. She would have gotten a healthy dose of both with Azazel. "You have no idea how much he ranted and raved about Enoch, the human lifted above his station, transformed into Metatron."

Metatron didn't offer anything in return, but he did thank Emma when she returned to the porch with a glass of lemonade.

"None for me?" Meg asked, offering what was probably supposed to be a helpless look.

"I made it with holy water," Emma said, dryly, and Metatron wasn't entirely sure if it was a joke or the truth.

"Look, if you're bitter because I got to go inside your boy's head, I'm sorry. I was a different person back then." She smirked. "Literally." She tilted her head back and kicked her other foot as she let it dangle over the leg of the chair. "Besides, you're giving him what he's always wanted in the back of his damaged little mind. A nice, normal girlfriend, the possibility of a life with her. He's wanted that for a very, very long time."

"Not that you'll let him have it. You are still rooting for your master, aren't you?" Emma asked.

"Of course I am, and if I can find a way to make it happen, then I don't really care if Sam wants his happy little life or not. But if I can't, I'll keep working on this for a few generations and see what happens."

"A real shame, then, that I can't have children," Emma said, and Metatron was surprised by her almost casual tone. Metatron did his very best to stay out of people's minds, but as an angel, sometimes it wasn't the easiest task. He was well aware that this wasn't something she was really at ease about. "This is all carried in the bloodline, isn't it? Cain and Abel, Michael and Lucifer, Dean and Sam. Sam and me, Dean and Cas... no bloodline."

"There are others who are viable. Not as strong, not as good, but others. And no offense, but there's nothing particularly special about you. You'd be diluting the line, not making it stronger. My father worked very hard to make sure Sam was trained, and we could train another. Or maybe I will just have to move on."

She smiled fully at the blonde. "Sweetheart, you can get as upset as you want about my motives, but when it comes to dealing with demons, it's always better to work with the ones who don't hide them than the ones who do."

"Are my ears burning, because it sounds like someone is talking about me." Metatron stood from his chair and dropped his angel blade from the sleeve of his linen shirt. He had not had any personal dealings with this particular demon, but he knew who he was. Despite Gabriel taking him off of heaven's most wanted list, Crowley was still not to be trusted.

To the angel, it hardly mattered to the angel that the King of Hell was waving a white flag made of his handkerchief and an expensive-looking pen. "Metatron, Emma, I don't think we've had the pleasure." He offered a smarmy smile to Meg. "But we've known one another very well."

Meg's eyes narrowed as she watched the other demon's approach. "That was a stupid mistake on my part when I was slumming and you were busy trying to climb the crossroads ladder."

"Well, I had to get on top somewhere because I certainly wasn't getting it from you," he said. "My, but you were bossy."

"And you were a little bitch," Meg said. "You still are." She shifted to a less relaxed position in her chair. It was nothing more than a turn, letting her plant her feet on the boards of the porch floor, and the rest of her body language tried to convey that she was at ease and not intimidated. Metatron had been an observer for thousands of years, and he knew well enough by now to know that it was an act.

"What do you want?" Metatron asked.

"I understand that the littlest Winchester has gone missing, and I could really use having moose and squirrel in my debt right now." His eyes raked over Meg, but not in a sexual way. He looked at her the way Zachariah used to look at a disobedient angel. That was the expression of someone who was ready to inflict pain and just waiting for the chance to be given permission to do it. "But I think I could come to another arrangement."

"Two demons showing up suddenly at the Winchesters' doorstep to offer help them and Castiel..." Metatron said, spinning the blade lightly in his hand where both demons could see. He hoped it would work as a reminder that he was armed and capable of killing them. "I feel like I'm missing out on something."

"You can stop the baton twirling, Metatron," Crowley said. "We all know your pen is mightier than your sword. I'm here because I heard a little rumor that the Lucifer camp just got decimated in the southwest. But no one can figure out why they were there, why it was so well protected, and why it sounds like they were led into an ambush."

"You think I know?" Meg asked. "They haven't told me anything, and they wouldn't have. Apparently, when you're one of the top generals in fighting a way that lands your leader in a never ending cage match with his brother, you don't get to call the shots the next time around."

"So, you're offering your help in order to get her?" Emma asked, gesturing to the demon still under the devil's trap.

"Got it in a nutshell,"the other demon said as he shielded his eyes from the warm summer sun. The Lucifer followers gave other demons hope, and when demons have hope, they start getting ideas... and thinking..." Crowley snapped his fingers and a large cabana tent appeared around him, flowing white curtains included, along with a matching white lounge and a glass of some kind of fruity alcoholic drink. "I don't like when they think."

He quickly settled onto the louge and kicked his feet up. "When the Hardy boys get back, we'll start negotiating." He turned on a TV that, up until that point, Metatron had thought was a mirror. "Want to see how the progress is going?" he asked as he plucked the paper umbrella from his drink. "I have a helmet-cam on one of my boys, just for shits and giggles."

Metatron thought it was no wonder that Gabriel had gone to him to try to negotiate a deal. In another lifetime, they'd have gotten along famously.

#

"You ran into Bela about six months ago, didn't you?" Sam asked as they sped toward the first empty warehouse Dean had marked in his research.

"Yeah," Dean said, tightening his hands around his Baby's wheel. "Should have ganked her then. I hesitated." He tried to imagine what it would feel like to carve her up again, to make her hurt and pay for this. Imagining it felt too good and made him feel far too dirty. "I won't hesitate again."

He remembered her on his rack, now more than ever. He remembered her screams, her pretty pleas for him to stop, to not do it. The blade had felt good in his palm like a familiar friend, and it had moved through Bela's body—or whatever it was that Hell gave its souls in place of a flesh and blood body—with amazing ease.

Ruby's knife would do in a pinch.

"Dean, you know this isn't your f—"

"Let me deal with the anger, Sammy," Dean said. "I'm not onto the guilt yet, and I'd like to keep it that way." It would come, and he wasn't looking forward to that, knowing he'd put his family in danger again.

They dropped into an uncomfortable silence as they drove around the first warehouse and saw no signs of Bela's presence. They moved to the next empty building, this one a house, but sturdy enough and remote enough that it wouldn't attract unnecessary attention. Again, the place looked undisturbed.

With each spot that followed, Dean's stomach began to sink. If they couldn't find them soon, there was a real possibility they wouldn't find them at all. And even if they did, each property they checked was closer and closer to Sioux City's center and the innocent people who could get caught in the crossfire.

When Sam's phone rang and it was Emma, his brother wasn't the only one who panicked. Dean wasn't sure he could take anyone else on his conscience.

"Emma? What is it?" Sam asked, putting the call on the speaker

"Crowley's here. Wants to cut a deal for Meg when this is over if he helps you."

"Or at least have you in my debt," Crowley's smarmy voice came over the too-small speaker in the back of the phone. "But I'd rather get intel from Meg."

"No promises, no deals," Sam said. "I know how that works out with you."

"Yeah, crotchety old curmudgeons get their legs back in working order so they can boink the sheriff. He really got a bad deal," Crowley said.

"What do you know?"

"Well, my boys have found a shipping facility that's gone vacant. It's covered in tags that look a hell of a lot like angel symbols. And—"

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire, swearing and screaming overtook whatever the demon was saying. "Emma!" Sam shouted.

"Would you please turn that thing down?" Metatron's irritated voice chimed in from the distance and the screaming hushed

"You're watching TV at a time like this?" Dean asked, trying to focus on the drive.

"No. That was the scene at the shipping facility where Bela's been camping out. Apparently, my crew found Bela's. And boys, be careful. This mess isn't far from downtown, and I know you two care about innocent casualties."

"Fuck!" Dean yelled as he drove directly to the site. He'd done he research and knew exactly where it was. It meant that getting Johnny and Cas out of there safely wasn't going to be easy. It might not even be possible.

Unfortunately for innocent bystanders, today, Dean knew where is priority was, and it wasn't on them. It was on his son and his angel.


	48. Help Me If You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers catch up to Bela, but will they arrive in time?

" _Swinging first and swinging to kill is all that matter now." Ernie Pyle_

Jody's deputies cleared the streets, and not for the first time, she wondered if it wouldn't be better for the town she swore to protect if the Winchesters moved somewhere else. She saw no civilian casualties, but the demons being fired upon, they were borrowing innocent people's bodies. She knew that, and maybe they were her people, maybe they were borrowed from the next town over or from Africa or Europe. No matter how far they originated from, when this was all over, her people would have to collect the dead.

It was becoming far too familiar for a small South Dakota city that had seen its frontier days pass nearly a century ago.

She knew she'd never ask them to leave, not as she looked over at Bobby making himself sick with worry about his boys and not knowing the brothers the way she did. And they deserved a place to call their home after everything they had done to protect the world. It helped that they had assistance that they hadn't had before. Angels were watching and trying to help, even the demons, if Crowley were to be believed, were on their side. These were not the dark days of three years ago when the angels refused to do anything and the dead were rising, killing.

Bobby had slipped inside a salon across the street to case the building where this Bela woman was holding Castiel and Johnny, and with their phone system, he was setting up a temporary base of operations as he tried to find a way to get in that wouldn't get the brothers killed. Jody wanted to point out to him that it was pointless, that Dean and Sam were going to charge into the warehouse, plan or no.

They may have been the first on the scene, but when the angels arrived, the humans' efforts seemed to pale in comparison. The scene quickly turned into something out of an apocalyptic movie. The demons immediately recognized who the newcomers were, and seemed to forget their mission. Though a few continued their attack on the mercenaries, the rest turned on the celestial beings.

"Sheriff," one of her deputies' voices came across the walkie-talkie at her hip. "Sheriff, what are they?"

"They are our back-up."

"So... the Mayans were right?"

"This isn't the end of the world, Paul. And that's not supposed to happen until December." Though, she could certainly understand why he thought so. "Just keep the civilians clear of the area. We'll all talk after this is over. The only ones allowed in are the Winchesters."

"Copy."

"Black Impala, South Dakota License Plate KAZ 2Y5." Since setting down roots, the car had been registered in the state with a familiar plate.

"We know the car, ma'am," the officer replied. She probably should have known they would. It was certainly distinctive.

The demons didn't seem to know that they were on the same side as the angels, and more of them began to turn on them, now that many of the mercenaries were now dead. Most of them gave Azrael and the shorter angel a wide berth and focused on Balthazar instead. To Jody's surprise—and the demons' if their reactions were anything to go by—Balthazar was more than a passable fighter, though one of the demons managed to land a blade square in the angel's chest. Jody had gasped and signed in relief as she watched Balthazar cock his head to the side mockingly and pull the knife from his chest.

The shorter angel with him was a much more skilled, and trickier, too. He used doubles, slight of hand and what could well have been a Vegas magic show to distract the demons and the humans hired by this Bela—for lack of a better term. Jody didn't want to ever run afoul of that angel. Just watching him made it clear he was incredibly powerful.

Still, he was nothing when compared to the third angel in the bunch. Azrael seemed almost indifferent to the battle, and anyone who got close enough to her to actually touch her was on the ground in moments with just a glance or flick of her wrist in their direction. She seemed far more concerned with the building, as though it was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out. With long, smooth strides, the lean angel paced the entire perimeter, frowning, leaving a path of dead bodies in her wake.

And Jody had shared crab dip with her.

"Sheriff," came a different voice across the walkie talkie. "The press are calling wanting to know what's going on."

"Tell them we have an ongoing stand-off connected to a drug trade and are currently cooperating with federal agents."

"What kind of drugs?" the deputy asked. "You know they'll ask."

Jody watched a demon literally try to take a bite out of one of the mercenaries' arms. "Tell them bath salts. That should explain some of the crazy."

#

"No! No, no, no! You bloody morons!" Crowley yelled at the screen and into the earpiece he wore that was directly connected to his helmet-cam demon. "The angels aren't the enemy for once. Let them deal with the cannon fodder, and then get your asses inside."

The camera got wobbly and then collapsed to the ground, giving the King of Hell nothing more than a view of a lot of feet and collapsing bodies.

"Bollocks!" he yelled as he punched the flatscreen and felt it crack beneath his knuckles. When he pulled back, all that was left was giant fissure and rainbow colored stripes.

"I believe it is said 'Balls!' If you listen to Bobby, that is." Crowley glared at Metatron, who was busy sipping his lemonade as he gave him a superior smile. He hated the smug bookworm just on principle, but their exchange so far wasn't exactly endearing himself to the demon, either.

"So you want to let me in on what exactly your horse is in this race?" Crowley asked. "I set my cards all on the table. What are yours?"

"Your cards are hardly 'all on the table,'" Metatron said. "Because you still want Castiel, and even though I  _know_  you've been threatened to steer clear, if your boys grab him because they 'misunderstand the situation,' you could have your cake and eat it too, potentially getting Meg  _and_  the angel who betrayed you." The angel leaned over the rail or the porch. "Or am I completely off the mark?"

Yes, Crowley hated this particular angel, even if he impressed the hell out of him.

"It wouldn't matter if you were," Crowley said. "Bela's turned the ground outside into a mine field of devil's traps. My demons aren't going anywhere. Not that your angels are getting inside, either, from the last I saw on the screen."

"Before you punched it," Meg supplied, oh-so-helpfully.

"Before I punched it," Crowley added, wryly. He didn't like her, either. "So, it looks like we have to wait and see how the humans manage. Or whatever you want to call Jolly Green and Sprout. I think the jury is still out on how human they are." He plucked a grape from the nearby fruit bowl and popped it into his mouth. "Back to my original question: Why the interest from heaven's heavy hitters?"

He glanced to see Meg doing her best to feign disinterest, which meant she was doing a horrible job of it, overall. Emma for her silence was obviously trying to absorb every word.

"Because Castiel is family." Metatron answered, and chuckled at the disbelieving look Crowley offered in response. "Because he's also a symbol of rebellion and humanity. We're trying to avoid another Apocalypse, and if a demon hurts him or his son, can you imagine what his one-time followers might do? How Heaven might be required to react?"

"For someone who isn't even a leader anymore?" Crowley knew of four of the five members of Heaven's new leadership, and none of the possible number fives that made any sense seemed to be in charge. That left the "symbol of rebellion and humanity." It would be Castiel's luck to land himself in a position of power even after his royal cockup a year ago.

"For a potential martyr, absolutely." Metatron sat back in his chair. "Do you have any idea how many from my tribe used my disappearance as a rallying point to forward war against another tribe? Even centuries after I was gone and the newest generation no longer remembered anything about me beyond my name, the leaders would find a new foe and pronounce that it had been them that 'took the great tribal leader Enoch, and they must suffer for their wrongs.'"

The reasoning was sound, but Crowley would wager all of his very best Scotch it wasn't the whole story.

#

"I knew that the cavalry would arrive," Bela said, "but I didn't expect it to be so big or diversified. It looks like the police are blocking the streets, angels are clearing the way, and demons are even out to save your arse. Or at least get a piece of it." She turned her attention from the windows and back to Castiel. "Crowley used to talk about you, before I escaped from Hell. He would tell my torturer to do to me all of the sick and twisted things he imagined doing to you.

"He manages to pull of that benign image so very well, but he's still a demon all the way through."

"If there is anyone who would not be surprised by that, it think it would be me," Castiel answered, still trying to calm the boy down.

"I suppose you would," Bela said as she paced around the room to make certain that everything inside the shipping facility was in place and patted her pocket for the knife that would let her break the seal she had placed on her vessel's arm. She kept her back to the sole weak point in the anti-demon warding that surrounded the building, ready to make her escape if necessary. It wouldn't be long now until the brothers made their appearance.

This could all go sideways, and if it did, she had back up plan after back up plan. The Winchesters could be outsmarted; she'd done it several times before. She also knew that no amount of success in the past could guarantee she would do well now. Too many underestimated them, and when they did, bad things tended to happen. Unless they were Crowley.

She'd planned for every contingency

"Black Impala spotted," came the voice of one of her men from the device hooked to her ear.

"Keep them in sight, but let them inside." Revenge was no good if she couldn't see it. Besides, there was no guarantee that one of the angels wouldn't heal the brothers as soon as someone took them down.

"He will kill you, you know."

"He can certainly try, but I think you and the baby will be far bigger concerns."

#

Sam had never given a lot of thought to Gabriel's fighting abilities, which was probably callous of him, considering that he and Dean had sent him to face his brother alone, had insisted he fight the devil, not knowing if he was even capable or if he was all flash. But now, seeing the archangel battling these demons and mercenaries, Sam didn't feel quite so guilty. Gabriel utilized his usual trickery to achieve his ends, which wasn't an enormous surprise. What was, though, was that he could be astonishingly good at hand-to-hand when it was necessary. The archangel was making a nearly clean path on his own, but where anyone or anything remained, Azrael took them out before anyone could really see what she'd done. She used no angel blade and didn't seem to have a need for it. With a wave of her hand, she took out whole rows of demons and mercenaries.

He really wished they'd had her on their side during the battle with Michael and Lucifer.

Balthazar was sticking to the fringes, taking out the people hiding in nearby buildings or those approaching the police officers blocking off the streets and protecting the innocent civilians.

Sam and Dean moved toward the shipping facility quickly, and though Sam was usually faster than his brother just by the sheer length of his legs, it was all he could do to keep up with his older brother.

"None of us can get in," Azrael said as they approached the door. When one of the mercenaries attempted to shoot them, she altered the bullet's path with a dismissing move of her hand and then dropped him to the ground with another. If Sam didn't know better, he would have sworn the angel was actually irritated by the fact she couldn't get inside.

"If it looks like a trap and sounds like a trap..." Sam said, adjusting the grip on his gun.

"Don't give a fuck," Dean said before charging in. Sam had no choice but to follow behind.

"If you see anything resembling an infinity symbol, get rid of it. I will be able to get inside," Azrael called after them.

Sam didn't know if Dean was going for a sneak attack, pointless as it was, but Johnny unintentionally ruined any chance of coming in undetected. As soon as he spotted Dean from his place at Cas's shoulder, he had let out a piercing "Dada!"

And almost instantly, Sam caught a flash of red, then more. Where flecks of dust caught the air, the red lines became apparent. One of them, he was pretty sure, was pointing at his own head. He watched Dean's head move as his eyes followed the lines. Though they didn't often deal with people with anything more sophisticated than a pistol or sawed off shotgun, they both knew what the red lasers meant, and Sam found it difficult to breath when he saw several of the dots focused on Johnny.

"Did you think I'd come here alone?" a woman asked as she sat on a stack of boxes at the far wall. She had a gun of her own pointed at Johnny and Cas. Sam watched as Dean's shoulders gave a lurching movement, as though he was trying not to puke. Sam was feeling the same way.

"Put your guns down," Bela said. And Sam could just barely make out Dean's face as he looked at her incredulously and just a bit lost. If they gave up their weapons to her, then she had all the power. Unfortunately, with Cas trapped inside of a ring of holy fire, guns pointed at all of their heads, she already did.

"You want me to surrender? I'm willing to do that. Do whatever you want to me—"

"Dean, no!" Cas shouted before Sam could do so. It was a wonder that the angel's throat wasn't totally wrecked by making that noise. There was no way it was good on the vocal chords. (And yes, Sam was trying to think of anything but his own and his nephew's danger.) "I can protect him. Do not put yourself at her mercy."

"How many bullets do you think he can protect your boy from?" she asked. "What one will miss his wing or will go right through his borrowed body into your son? There is also Sam to consider. I don't have any grudge against your brother, but he doesn't have a guardian angel. That little red dot on his forehead could easily become a big red splatter."

Dean's arm wavered, and his grip on the gun looked shaky. Sam's grip remained firm, but he knew if it came to it, he would follow Dean's lead. He trusted him not to make a decision that would ultimately hurt Cas, Johnny or himself. The only person Dean willingly sacrificed was himself. It killed Sam a little every time he did, but he never questioned his own safety when it was in Dean's hands.

"You want  _me_ , Bela. You have every right to want to see me dead—"

"You're damned right I do," she shouted from her place on those boxes. "I begged you, Dean. I tried to make you remember who I was because I was sure you couldn't. There was no way, I thought while you were holding that blade over my abdomen, that you could know who I was. But as you cut into me that first time, you called me by name. You mentioned the damned rabbit's foot.  _You knew_. You used to remind me when I would get on the rack. You used to throw my words back at me, that we should have angry sex."

Her own grip on the gun shook in her own rage.

"You knew why I had traded my soul, but you didn't hesitate to threaten me with it. You would let your hand hover over the areas I least wanted touched. You made me fear each time I was on your rack might be the day you finally followed through." She closed her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks. "It was worse than the ones who actually did it."

"I  _know_  I knew who you were," Dean said. "And I cried, and hesitated and tried and failed time and time again because I just couldn't do it. Do you even remember? The number of times I got off that rack and got back on because I couldn't hurt someone, because I couldn't hurt you?" He shuddered. "Once I did... I still couldn't bring myself to do  _that_. I couldn't do it. Wouldn't. And as long as I hurt you and made you afraid, Alistair didn't make me."

Sam knew he had suffered in the cage with Lucifer and Michael, and some of their—mostly Lucifer's—mindfuckery was coming back piece by piece. He couldn't imagine, though, if he had gone through what Dean had suffered. It went against everything that made Dean who he was, and that, perhaps, had been the point.

"Liar!" She yelled again, making Johnny cry against Cas's shoulder.

The fear in that little boy's sobs before he should have been old enough to understand real terror, that seemed to solidify Dean's resolve once again. He readjusted his grip on his gun and was busy eying up each laser point to determine their sources. As always, Sam followed suit and prepared for the shootout he now felt certain was coming.

He also tried to pay special attention to the multiple sigils around the area, seeking out the one Azrael described. It would be easier to bring her in than the others, as the whole room was warded against the angels, and according to her, only one was preventing her from coming to their assistance inside the facility. While tracking one of the laser lights up the wall to his left, Sam spotted the intricately designed infinity symbol. It was just a few feet saw what she did outside. If she could be brought in, the mercenaries didn't stand a chance.

#

Dean pointed his gun straight at Bela's head. She only grinned and began changing, "Omni potentas dei potestatum invoco..." she began. Cas froze and his body went rigid.

"Omni potentas dei potestatum invoco," Bela said again.

Dean watched Cas slowly lower Johnny to the ground, placing the child out of his protection and near the flames. The angel looked like he was in pain, but Dean wasn't sure how to make it stop without risking one of them being shot.

"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean cried out, watching as his son was lowered to the floor near the flames he was staring at in fear. He knew he'd asked that as though it was somehow Cas had lost his mind, and he was honestly wishing at that moment that Bela had done exactly that, but he could see the pain in the angel's form as he felt to hands and knees the moment Johnny was safe.

"Close your eyes, Dean!" Cas shouted, and it was implied that Sam should close his as well. "Johnny, close your eyes," he said more quietly to the baby.

"Aborbe terran."

Dean tried to run to them, but he'd managed just two steps before a gunshot rang out. Dean looked to his son and Cas first, but they were both unharmed, and his own adrenaline wasn't pumping so strongly that he couldn't notice it if he'd just taken a bullet. That left only one person, the one crying out in pain behind him. He whipped around to look at his little brother and saw Sam had his left hand squeezed around his upper arm and blood coloring the sleeve. But he was okay, and that was what mattered right now.

It didn't stop the snipers from pointing their red lasers at Sam's and Johnny's heads specifically to make their point. Dean wasn't going anywhere.

"Hoc angelorum in obsequentum," Bela continued. Cas was glowing now, and Johnny was looking at Cas with something akin to we as the light grew. The angel had collapsed on his hands and knees and was beginning to glow everywhere.

Despite the fact his face made him look like he had chicken pox again, Sam seemed to be inching close to something, one of the sigils maybe. No one was firing any weapons this time. Apparently, it was more important for Dean to stay in place, or at least, they needed to stay away from the ring of fire. Then again, the snipers may have been so engrossed now in the outline of wings making themselves known behind the angel's back.

"Domine expoet. Domine expoet." Dean could only close his eyes now as Cas's light grew. He had gotten to see him once, so he couldn't be sure that would grant him the ability to see his true form without his eyes burning out.

All he could do while he stood there, helpless, gun pointlessly aimed at the woman trying to do God only knew what to Cas, was give a chant of his own, "Johnny close your eyes. Please close your eyes. I'm so sorry Cas. I'm so sorry, Johnny. Johnny, close your eyes. Please close your eyes..." The light was so blinding now that it colored through his own eyelids, making Dean literally see red.

"Hodie Adda Tempere." He heard Cas screaming now, Johnny crying, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do. If he moved, Johnny or Sam might be shot. "Genitori, Genitoque. Procedentie ab utroque compar sit laudatio. Amen."

There was one final cry of pain from Cas's true voice, and Dean could practically feel his eardrums on the brink of shattering. He didn't know, as he heard Johnny screaming if he should be grateful for that fact he still  _could_  hear at all. The only thing he was sure of was that he was absolutely terrified to open his eyes to what he might find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more to come. I've got several chapters to post to this now that my computer is back up and running and documents have been recovered.


	49. Ain't No Use in Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wants blood.

_"From the door comes Satan's daughter, and it only goes to show. You know./ There's an angel on my shoulder, in my hand a sword of gold." Led Zepplin_

She'd hurt his son, scared him.

She'd shot his brother.

She'd hurt the person he loved, made him scream.

Some of her men were stunned and others were falling from the rafters in pain, blinded by seeing an angel's true form, eyes melted from their skulls. Dean's odds had gotten better, but he really wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about the best way to take out all of the hurt that Bela had caused on his family on her.

A bullet would do little good on the demon, but it was distraction enough as he fired first at her and then at the sources of the laser lights, though none of them were still on. Things had gotten a little too real for the snipers, or rather, a little too surreal. And even if they shot now, damage had already been done. Johnny had already been attacked, with his own father acting as the tool to cause him pain. Sam was already bleeding, and Cas's body had partially fallen into the flames that surrounded both his partner and his son. Dean knew if he didn't act now, Cas wouldn't have a body to return to, and his son wouldn't be able to escape the fire; he wasn't even old enough to know he was supposed to.

Dean made quick work of the snipers above, with Sam behind him, following suit with his one good arm.

"Get Cas and Johnny!" Dean shouted as he charged across the loading bay at the woman he wanted to make suffer. She was looking at him with fear and even a little surprise. They always underestimated him, even more than they did Sammy. Really, did she expect him to react differently after she attacked three of the four people he cared about most in this world? Did she really think she'd get away from it, from him? Even the ones who had misjudged Dean before had recognized he was a force to be reckoned with if you messed with his family, but it was here, apparently, that Bela miscalculated.

Dean watched as she pulled a switchblade from her pocket, which Dean initially thought was going to be for him, but instead, she moved it toward her own arm. He knew the symbol, remembered when it was burned into Sam's arm. The hell she was getting out of here. Not after what she'd done.

His adrenaline was running, and he was going to kill her. He was going to cut this fucking bitch up in all the ways he hadn't had the guts to do even after ten years in hell. He was going to make her scream and beg and cry, and he was going to love every minute of it. She would ask for mercy, pray for death, but Dean wasn't going to give it to her, not any more than he was going to touch that patch of marked skin. She would stay in this unfortunate woman's body and feel what he was doing to her.

As he drove his shoulder into her, he realized he'd miscalculated just how tall her new meat suit was. It didn't make it a match for a Winchestr out for blood, but it did cause him to fumble for a split second as he took her to the hard cement ground. The knife she'd been holding skittered across the floor and beneath a pallet of unfolded boxes. She hit him hard across the jaw, and he would probably feel it later, since she was so much stronger now as a demon, but he deflected it nearly as well as Cas did a punch.

She saw him pull out Ruby's knife, its blade glinting in the faint light of the too-small windows in the place. She began scrambling at the sight of it, and managed to flip Dean onto his back. She very nearly got the better of him. But she should have kept her mouth shut.

"Poor little boy," she said, both of her hands on the one Dean was using to hold the knife. "Deformed  _and_  blind, but don't worry. I'll put him out of his misery as soon as I'm done with you."

"Threatening my son," he said as he rolled them again and placed his other hand at Bela's throat, "is really not a good way to get me to back down."

The pretty face of a woman who couldn't have been more than twenty-two, twenty-three snarled nastily at him. "That won't work on me. Breathing isn't really what I'd call a necessity in here."

"Johnny's fine," Sam shouted over the baby's continued cries for his parents. Dean couldn't see him from this position, couldn't ask if Cas was okay, or if his vessel had survived the fire enough for him to return - because he  _was_  coming back. But at least, he knew this: His son was scared but not hurt."

"Fuck you," Dean spat at Bela. "He closed his eyes."

"His eyes were open..." And she turned her attention to Johnny because she obviously didn't believe he could be okay. And that was enough for Dean to finally get the upper hand, pinning her with his blade at her stomach and her hands trapped over her head.

"Oh, the things I'm going to do to you," Dean said, leaning close to her ear. "This knife can kill demons. I know you know that, but were you aware that it hurts a hell of a lot?" he asked as he drew a thin line on one of her arms, making her arch so prettily underneath him in pain. "I think it's worse than Alastair's blade, don't you? I can't really know for sure, not being a demon, so your feedback would be welcomed." He did another, and she cried out again. "If you thought I was cruel before, carving you up until there was nothing left, Bela Talbot, you haven't seen me when I'm angry. And right now? I'm downright pissed." Long, black hair tickled his nose as he hissed, "I'm curious if vivisection hurts more here or in Hell. What do you say we find out?"

"I think someone else can be your guinea pig," Bela said, trying to snap at his cheek, but he was too fast for her, and pulled back in time to see pearly whites snapping shut. He continued to hold her with one hand, moving the blade down for the first cut. He was so lost in his revenge, that he didn't care he had an audience of the two people he never, ever wanted to see him like this.

But then, in an instant, she was gone. He saw the change immediately as her eyes widened in fear and the woman let out a quiet whimper. Dean still held fast to her, afraid Bela would surface again if he gave an inch. "You're her vessel, aren't you? Did she do that? Can they do that?" he asked the vessel, his brother, no one at all, anyone.

"Yeah. They can." Dean really didn't want to know how or why Sam knew that fact, and maybe he'd ask later. Or maybe they'd just admit that today revealed some things about their pasts they didn't want sharing.

"She... she's a monster. She brings me out when people want to hurt her. The other demons don't like her. They 'put her in her place.' She always made me..." Big brown eyes closed and tears ran down her temples and into her dark hair.

"What's your name?" Dean asked.

"Padma," she said. "Padma Sengupta."

The room went quiet save for the clicking noise of a pair of women's black shoes that were slowly approaching them. Prepared for the worst, Dean looked up to find Azrael giving him that usual indifferent expression. His momentary distraction was enough for Padma to get her hands free and on the blade he held in his hands. Rather than trying to turn it on Dean, Padma Sengupta took away his opportunity for revenge and plunged the blade into her own stomach with two words in Hindi.

Though Padma had been the one in control, her entire body lit up just as it would have had it been Bela.

"Bloody bitch," Azrael translated. "Fine last words. Strong."

Dean looked up at the angel. "Fix this," he begged her. "You can heal her." But silently, he was begging for the body with the charred clothing, charred who knew what else, behind his brother's massive form.

"I can't heal anyone," Azrael said, closing the woman's face with a featherlight touch of her fingers. "I am the angel of death. But I can promise that Miss Sengupta will find peace."

With a casual flick of her wrists, the entire shipping area was clear of the sigils and Dean could hear the soft thuds as the snipers' bodies hit the ground. "See to your son. I will try to retrieve your angel."

And she was gone.

Dean stood slowly on shaking legs. Sam met him halfway with Johnny in his arms. "He's okay?" he asked, relieved but trying desperately not to get sick over the smell of burning flesh.

Dean stood slowly on shaking legs. Sam met him halfway with Johnny in his arms. "He's okay?" he asked, still not believing it. It was hard to believe anything good could happen when the shipping facility smelled so strongly of burning flesh.

"I checked his eyes. Either he closed them or he's even more special than we thought."

The little boy's eyes opened enough that Dean could see emerald green looking back at him behind the tears. The hunter wanted to cradle Cas's body the same way he now was his son, but he couldn't let Johnny see that. Not Cas's body, not Dean breaking down. All he could do now was hold the boy close and check on his brother's arm. Because this ... this was too much. If he let himself really feel it all now, he'd break and he didn't know he could pick up the pieces one more time. He couldn't deal with Cas being vulnerable, with Johnny being scared and nearly killed, Sam being shot, regressing back to his persona in Hell, and all of it happening because of something that was entirely his fault.

"Where's Cassie?" Balthazar asked as soon as his feet hit the ground.

"Bela used an incantation. Azrael said it sent Cas back to heaven," Sam explained. Thankfully, he was handling the Q & A, leaving Dean to calm the baby whose body was involuntarily shaking in his arms and whose tiny fist was tightly twisting the fabric of Dean's black t-shirt.

"Through all those sigils?" Gabriel asked, looking mildly sick. That expression on his face didn't bode well for either Cas or Dean.

"How is he?" Balthazar asked, jerking his head in Johnny's direction, but actually looking concerned for the baby.

"He just watched his father pulled from his body in pain," Dean snapped. "He's had better days."

"Good thing the kid can see angels' true forms," Balthazar said. Dean was torn between narrowing his eyes in anger that he hadn't been informed of this little detail before and surprise that he didn't know it, either. "You didn't know? Even after his birthday with the fireworks? He knew the angel with wings was his Tad."

At that word, Johnny let out a broken cry for his "Tata." Dean didn't know how to fix this, not without breaking his own heart, too. Unfortunately, that was looking to be the only option. As much as Dean didn't want to do it, when this was all done, he would have to ask the angels to wipe Johnny's memory and take him somewhere else, somewhere safe.

#

Sam hadn't fully realized how badly his ears had been injured until Gabriel snapped his fingers and healed him. All he had known was his arm burned and throbbed and his head felt like it was ready to crack. Suddenly, he could hear clearly and the pain in his head and arm was gone. It seemed, though, with the wound to Cas's body, the archangel needed a much more hands-on technique. He muttered something about having to feel up his little brother, since some of Cas's injuries were on his hip, but he still went to work on them all the same.

"So you're alive," Sam said.

"Can't pull a fast one on you," Gabriel said, then paused as if thinking better of it. "No, wait, I can. And have."

"For how long? Being alive, I mean, not play tricks on me." Sam had enough Tuesdays to fill a lifetime.

"Little more than a year. Dear old Dad brought me back."

"You're the mysterious head of the council then."

"That'd be me," he said.

"Can Cas make it back? I mean, what sort of damage would this have done, because when Alastair tried it on him before, it definitely seemed like he thought it would be permanent."

"The chant sends an angel to Heaven to be at God's side, and only God can release the angel again. Back when Alastair was trying it, it would have been a long wait for him to come back."

"Because our Father was busy on his little sabbatical," Balthazar chimed in while he tried to heal Cas, too.

"So, after all this time of looking for him, Cas is with God right now?" Sam asked

"Dad's in Heaven now," Gabriel said, "so, yeah. I guess so." He back to work on the blistered and puckered skin where once had been a t-shirt and jeans. The burns were much worse where the AC/DC shirt had been, providing very little protection from the flames. When Cas came back and things were all back to normal, Sam knew Dean was going to point out how right he'd been about the protective quality of thick denim over thin cotton jersey.

He had to hope that normal, by their standards, was still in the cards. He watched Dean try to sooth Johnny, though the boy was, at that point, more or less inconsolable. Sam didn't know if his nephew, who could apparently look at angels' true form, had any concept of what happened, beyond his father going away and this being frightening, but it was obvious enough that he was hurting. Sam wished he could make it better. Dean was trying, singing "Hey Jude" quietly as he rubbed small circles onto the baby's tiny back as it shuddered and lurched with gasping hiccups. Sam remembered Dean used to get those for ages after a hard cry, like he was still sobbing after the crying had stopped. It had always embarrassed him - their dad's sometimes callous statements hadn't helped, either - and the really hard cries stopped eventually. Dean stuck to suffering in silence, like he was trying to do now.

Except for "Hey Jude."

It was a part of Sam's childhood as much as Dean's. He'd go out and find tomato and rice soup somewhere, or open a can of Campbell's tomato and order rice from the nearest Chinese place, and sing that song whenever Sam got sick. He always reminded him it was what their mother used to do because he wanted desperately for Sam to feel that same connection to her that he had, but for Sam, the song, the soup, it had been a connection to Dean. Only once was Sam ever able to try to return the favor, not with the soup because he'd been four and couldn't open the can or find a place that had it. He'd tried singing to Dean, at least, only to have his brother put his hand over Sam's mouth and tell him he appreciated it but Sam didn't have a future in music.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad/ take a sad song and make it better..."

Sam forced himself to look away because that song had been one of the good memories of his childhood, and it was so, so sad right now.


	50. My Father's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas makes a trip to heaven.

" _How did I get here? What have I done? When will all my hopes arise? How will I know him? When I look in my father's eyes."_

_Eric Clapton, My Father's Eyes_

"Are they all gone?" asked a painfully familiar voice that Castiel couldn't quite place. He found himself unable to move his body, not even enough to open his eyes yet, but he could hear. His mind felt a little sluggish, but despite that, he was almost positive that he knew that voice. He just couldn't quite put his finger on where he knew it from.

"They're all gone," another voice, female, British, dry, said... Azrael. "Though that really shouldn't have been such a difficult task. You easily could have handled it."

"It was funnier to watch you try. It gives you a little taste of what I've been dealing with for the last two years," the male voice said.

"What you've been dealing with?" Azrael sounded incredulous at the idea. "You put the Apocalypse into motion. I think two years of a never-ending Supernatural convention is minor in comparison."

"You've never had to put up with fangirls," the man said.

"Fangirls? You have absolutely no right to complain. As far as I am concerned, you should bend over, take your punishment and say, 'Please Sir, may I have another?'" Azrael paused for a moment, but Castiel could hear her footsteps as though she was pacing. "I do not know why I agreed to participate in your ridiculous, ritualistic suicide, but no more."

"I understand, and I am sorry," the man's voice said, sounding remorseful. "I wasn't thinking. I was too far removed, and by the time I realized what I'd done, I had set things into motion."

"Which you  _still_  could have stopped."

"Which I wasn't sure I wanted stopped. I know you tend to see them all as filth dirtying up the nothingness that I know you prefer—" Azrael tried to interrupt, but had only barely made a noise before the man was stopping her. "Don't argue with me. You've humored me for eons, but I know you wish things had stayed the way they were, in the quiet, when I was little more than a child, terrified by all the endless dark, even if you were the one to encourage me to make them. But they are special to me. Some of them, just for their normal, eventless lives. Some because they get to do such remarkable things, things that surprise even me."

Castiel could feel the man's arms move him slowly.

"You should be careful playing favorites like that," Azrael chided. "Your track history would show that you should have learned your lesson by now."

"As though you're any better."

"I'm allowed to have favorites. They're not  _my_  children."

A warmth flooded through Castiel's body unlike anything he'd experienced, even when he was the most closely tied with the Host. It was comforting and gentle. "I am sorry, really," the man said to Azrael one more time. "About everything." He paused for a moment. "How many times do I have to say that before you accept it?"

"A few more before I even consider it," Azrael said. "Bastard." The word held no bite, though. Castiel could feel her getting nearer, the movement of her body as she approached. "How is he?"

"He should be waking up any time now. How many of the sigils did you say that he passed through?" Castiel again felt that comforting hand at his head, another around his shoulders. He was fairly certain this person, whoever he was, was cradling him at this point.

"Far more than I had time or interest to count before I erased them from that building." The arm wrapped around Castiel's shoulder tightened. "Speaking of those sigils, I thought we had an understanding that I wasn't to be bound any longer. The infinity symbol was used in the building and prevented me from entering. Castiel need not have suffered."

Something undefinable changed in the air and Azrael merely said "Thank you" in response.

"Castiel," the voice said, "open your eyes, Cas."

Castiel was understandably confused when his eyes did finally obey and open. "Chuck?" He shifted out of the prophet's arms. "Chuck?" He shifted off of the prophet and began looking around the room. "We are in hotel bar? In heaven?"

Everything began to flood back at once. "I need to return. I need to get back to Dean and Johnny." Johnny... he hadn't closed his eyes when Castiel had been forced from his body. His son was almost certainly blinded.

"Johnny's fine. He's a special little boy, the only little boy deserving of you and Dean Winchester as his parents," Chuck said with a smile.

"What do you know of him? You are often aware of things the Winchesters are not." A niggling feeling at the back of his mind was telling him to question that warm feeling that still hadn't left, to wonder why he was able to fit inside a human bar when his true form was so much larger, to ask something about the conversation he had heard between Azrael and Chuck that had seemed so odd. But he was stuck on his son's well being.

Azrael answered, rather than Chuck. "When it came time to give Meri Lucas's baby a soul, I requested—"

"Demanded," Chuck corrected with a roll of his eyes.

"Shut your bloody mouth," Azrael said, but with no anger behind it; a bit of frustration perhaps. "I requested that he be given a soul that would match Dean Winchester's and have the same sort of resilience."

"What sort of resilience? The last time I was told a soul has resillience, it was tossed into Hell to become a torturer." Castiel had not felt strongly about Dean, in particular, but he had felt very sorry for the still-unknown man he would one day save.

"The sort that won't make him any different from any other child in any noticeable way, but it is special in that it could call out to you and to Dean, make you both happy. His biological mother and father were each a potential vessel for Balthazar and Metatron, respectively. That union made for a child with the ability to see and hear an angel without pain." Azrael had somehow managed to find some kind of deep fried cheese and was eating it with absurd glee.

"Dean is her pet project," Chuck explained. "Or science experiment. I'm not sure which."

Azrael only smirked at the comment. "Sometimes, neither am I, but I haven't started dissecting him, yet, so that bodes well in his favor." She dunked one of the sticks into the red marinara sauce. "This might be the time to start asking your other questions. I'm curious to see how 'Chuck' answers them." She used air quotes with her free hand, and Castiel wondered if somehow he had been using them wrong in the past. He didn't see anything about Chuck that made him special enough for the gesture.

Until he did.

It was in that moment that Castiel proved that he had been spending far too much time around Dean Winchester. Normally not quick to physical aggression, and a history of loyalty and faith, Castiel found himself acting before he thought. He found himself punching Chuck squarely in the nose and then being forced to turn away to cradle his hand in pain. Remembering that time years before when Dean had attempted the same, Castiel found himself sympathizing with his lover.

It didn't abate his anger. "You were there all along," Castiel said. He didn't raise his voice, though he wanted to. His hurt, physical and emotional kept his voice low, though not necessarily even. "All that time, you watched. You saw Dean and Sam's suffering, you caused it. You watched me, knowing I was losing my faith in everything, in you. Not once did you step in to stop all of this. Thousands of people  _died_."

"And are in Heaven now," Chuck—no, his Father—said.

"If you think that is just compensation, you did not spend nearly enough time down on earth," Castiel hissed. "Humans get one chance at a life, happy or miserable as it may be, and you cut it short."

"I had to fix things with Lucifer and Michael," his Father said. "Your brothers need a … time out." He actually looked sad at that.

"Fix," Azrael scoffed as she perched at the bar, eating the last of her cheese sticks. "Put a plaster on it, more like." It earned her a glare.

"Once I realized I might have been wrong, I knew I had to set a revolution into motion here in Heaven, and that was only going to happen if we went off script. The Apocalypse had been a long-standing deal—"

"Very longstanding," Azrael said before disappearing into the kitchen area momentarily.

"Long-standing deal to end the universe in a given way."

Castiel stared at the man before him. "'The universe?'" He chose to forgo the air quotes. "Heaven has always operated under the belief that it was just Earth."

His Father shook his head, looking far more serious than he ever had while acting as Chuck. "Not just Earth. Earth was my special project. It was where I had the most vested interest. People were losing faith, and I suppose I was feeling forgotten. I initiated the Apocalypse hastily, perhaps, but I was still ready to welcome Death when he finally would come to reap me."

The kitchen doors opened back up and Azrael was carrying the most disturbing pile of tater tots Castiel had ever seen in his life. They were covered in a number of thick and unnaturally colored sauces, cheeses and condiments, as well as a large helping of bacon and scallions. She picked up one of the uncovered tots and hurled the dry piece of food at Chuck's head so that it hit him in the ear. "With no regard for how this would affect anyone, I might add. Selfish little twit."

Castiel would have reprimanded her for being so informal with their Father, but Castiel  _had_  tried to strike him just moments before.

"So, what other questions did you have, Cas?" his Father asked. The seraph looked at him, confused. "Azrael said you had questions, and she's usually right about those things."

Several had been answered already, but the oddity at the moment was the fact that Castiel was relatively sure, despite the feeling of his wings at his back, he was still sharing Jimmy Novak's visage. "What has happened to my true form?"

The smile that spread across Chuck's face was almost proud, and Castiel hated himself a little for being so pleased he had made his Father feel that way. "Angels decide their true form. You're light and energy, you don't have need for a body, but you have all chosen one that suited your needs."

"Picking one the size of a Chrysler building, that might make some say you were compensating for something," Azrael said before popping one of the tater tots in her mouth and smiling in contentment.

"Zachariah was far worse, all those heads and nearly a dozen wings..." His Father shook his head. "But it is always about how you perceive yourself. And how you see yourself has changed, Castiel."

The angel felt hands at his shoulders, pushing him gently toward a mirror at the far end of the room. "Have a look," he said. Staring back at Castiel was the face with which he had become familiar. His hair was dark, his eyes a deep blue, his lips looked deceptively chapped. His lean body was wearing a suit and a tan trench coat, and behind him were two blackened—though not black—wings.

He unfurled the wings to inspect them for any damage, but he found none. It was strange, looking at them, now. The last time they had looked this charred, they actually  _had_ been. The downy, small feathers on his upper covert had been the first to give, burning to little more than ash. Many of those wings were now entirely whole, but an ashen gray. The plumage at the bottom was a matte black, and the color slowly faded to a near white at the top, save for the occasional dark ash-colored covert.

"You see yourself as marked by your first introduction to Dean Winchester, as we both know he is," Chuck said. "And you see yourself as an angel, but now very human."

"That was what you wanted, isn't it?" Castiel asked, suddenly realizing the reason for his Father's pride. "You wanted us to be more human all along. It's why you never pursued Gabriel or Zadkiel. It's why you brought Metatron into our ranks."

"It is," he confirmed. "It's why Metatron and Gabriel are on the council."

Castiel could hear Dean's voice, praying, but not in his usual manner. This one was silent, solemn. For once, it held no joke, no profanity, just a desperate plea to "Please get back." It interlaced with the words of the song the angel suspected Dean was singing to their son.  _Don't you know that it's you, hey Jude, you'll do. The movement you need is on your shoulder._

"How do I keep them safe?" Castiel asked his Father. "Bela discovered how to summon me. It is inevitable that another will as well."

"For once, Castiel, let me worry about that." And he felt Chuck's hand upon his forehead.

#

Dean wondered how long it would be before the image faded from his mind. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Johnny, his forehead pressed to Castiel's, his hand curled in the angel's hair as he let out heartbroken cries. Johnny was still sniffling involuntarily and keeping his face buried at Dean's neck, but he seemed to have calmed down a little as Sam and Gabriel droned on and did everything they could, with Balthazar's surprisingly silent help, to keep Cas's body ready and waiting for him to come back home.

The hunter was somewhere in the middle of the Na-nas in Hey Jude when Johnny let out a squeal. It was the same noise the baby had made when he spotted Dean coming into the building. The little boy was now fidgeting in Dean's arms, trying to get a good look as the room began to quake and light up like someone had set off a nuclear blast. It took everything the hunter had in him to fight his instincts to cover Johnny's eyes. Johnny could see this, could see Cas coming back, and he didn't want to take that away from him, especially when Dean wished he could do the same.

The lights faded, and Dean's boot-clad feet moved quickly across the concrete floor. Johnny had already begun to giggle uncontrollably. The boy was too young to notice Cas was wobbling as he half-leaned against Azrael, or see that his skin had taken an ashen tone. All Johnny could see was his Tad standing there.

For the moment, that's what Dean tried to focus on. He was standing in front of Cas in seconds, and immediately, his arm wrapped around the angel's waist and he braced himself to take on some of Cas's weight as he half-collapsed on him. Johnny couldn't seem to stop laughing, and as Cas buried his nose at Dean's neck, the little boy rubbed over the angel's stubbled cheeks with his left arm. Cas turned his head and gave Johnny's little arm a kiss. Dean felt the angel's arms loosely wrap around the hunter's waist.

"You had me scared."

"Me too," Cas breathed against the skin of Dean's neck.

Johnny was wriggling in Dean's arms, and he didn't seem to be satisfied until his forehead was against Cas's and their noses were mashed together.

"Hello, Johnny," Cas said, sounding bemused through his exhaustion. From his position, the hunter couldn't really see, but he assumed there was an amused smirk spreading across the angel's face.

"Tata!" the baby yelled loudly, though his voice was beginning to sound nearly as gravelly as Cas's from all of the yelling.

"So what happened?" Dean asked, though it was directed at both his partner and at Azrael.

"I saw God," Cas said, and after everything that happened a few years ago, Dean would have thought the angel should have sounded more excited about that. "The memory of it is... fuzzy, but I know I spoke with him. He said something about making sure I could not be summoned again."

Something about that made Dean feel as though his veins had been filled with ice water. "How did he do that?"

"Castiel is no longer a seraph," Azrael said.

Dean immediately shifted Cas back enough so that he could look the angel in the eyes. Johnny lurched forward a little in his arms, as he'd been leaning against Cas's head at the time. "He can't have done that. It isn't fair to strip you and make you human."

Cas, still looking exhausted, met Dean's eyes with characteristic seriousness. "If that had been the only solution available that would allow me to stay here with you and Johnny I would have accepted it gladly. It would have been an interesting experience staying on Earth and growing old alongside you." And, yeah, there was a thought that did things in Dean's gut he would never admit aloud to anyone. "However, God had another plan."

"Which was?"

"To make him an archangel," Azrael answered for him.

"No one knows how to summon the archangel Castiel, because the incantation doesn't exist. It might be invented, but it'd take a lot of trial and error," Gabriel said as he pulled a chocolate bar out of the front pocket in his jacket. "And even then, making an appearance is optional."

And Dean didn't care that their families were standing there—because Bobby and Jody had walked in the door at that moment. Dean surged forward and kissed the angel. He didn't get a lot of response back, but he felt Cas smile against his lips, which was good enough for Dean.

"Enough of the kissy-kissy," Balthazar said, clearing the room of the last of the bodies. Dean didn't know where he was sending them, but aside from Padma Sengupta, Dean didn't really care where the bodies went. She deserved something a little better.

"It was always part of the plan anyway," Gabriel said. "Cas, here is the fifth member of the council."

"What?" Both Dean and Cas asked in unison.

"Why do you think I kept coming here and asking you about Heaven's politics, Cassie?" Balthazar asked. "You've been issuing your votes by proxy. Me."

"Does it change anything?" Dean asked as Cas seemed stunned into silence.

"Other than the fact that I don't have to come up with inane conversations to get Cassie's opinion on the operations of Heaven when I come to visit instead of just asking for his vote? No, not really."

"Having one council member voting in absentia is fine," Gabriel added.

"What about you? I recall something about a goddess... Kali?" Cas asked, though he seemed to be trying to focus on the smaller details because his brain was having trouble processing the fact that he was part of Heaven's new leadership and had been for a year at least. The impact of that would probably come later. And for now Dean had been wondering the same thing. What if one of the other council members wanted to leave Heaven, too?

"Over. At least, for now," Gabriel said, taking a huge bite of the chocolate, but despite the sweets, he  _did_  look sad at that. Dean had to admit feeling a little bad for the guy, even if he could be an annoying bastard sometimes. "Though, she's forgiven me in the past. I'll just give her more time to cool down."

The hunter pulled Cas to his side again and held him there.

"The whole ordeal will be trying for him, between his new status and the sigils," Azrael warned. "And he will be off balance for a while."

"New wings," Castiel supplied from his place beneath Dean's chin

Dean moved his hand between Cas's shoulderblades, though he knew he wouldn't feel anything. Hearing that the angel had new wings, it made Dean curious, even if he knew they weren't on this plane, or whatever. Cas shivered at the touch.

"Did that hurt?"

"Felt nice." The poor guy was practically falling asleep standing up. "Can we go home now?"

"You bet we can."


	51. Don't Carry the World Upon Your Shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting home and the aftermath hits.

" _Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup/ They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe/ Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind/ Possessing and caressing me."_

_The Beatles – Across the Universe_

One of the deputies, new to all the weird began raising hell the moment they got outside. Sam was helping Dean with Cas, who was barely more than dead weight at this point. Johnny, who was against Dean's other shoulder wasn't much better. Jody and Bobby were trying to handle the situation with the deputy, and Gabriel had already poofed off to "handle" Meg and Crowley.

"I demand to know what is going on!" the deputy shouted. He turned on Balthazar and Azrael "And what in the Hell are you?"

"Uppity little paramecium, aren't you?" Azrael said before reaching out with her fingers and dropping him to the ground the moment they made contact with his head.

Dean stopped in his tracks and twisted around to look at her. It took a lot more effort than really made the move practical, and the hunter made a face that Sam honestly couldn't quite place. That was saying something, since he knew his brother better than nearly anyone. The young deputy collapsed to the ground in a slump and for a moment, Sam feared that Azrael might have killed him.

"What did you do to him?" Jody asked, always the protective mama bear over her young deputies.

"Put him to sleep and wiped his memory of today. Ensure he does not respond to any calls regarding the Winchesters in the future." She offered a bland look to the man now on the ground. "I may have gone a little overboard in my annoyance. Make sure he still remembers his name when he wakes."

Jody glared at the willowy angel, just before she popped from view without a sound.

Balthazar, who had been watching the whole exchange quickly jogged to Dean's side. "You can't manage to get Cassie into the car and Johnny. I'll take my nephew and belt him into the car, you go ahead and get Sleepy into the front."

Dean eyed him warily. "How do you have any idea how to use a carseat?"

"Muscle memory," the angel answered. Sam couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Have I never mentioned that this body used to belong to a soldier?"

"Seriously?" Dean asked, and Balthazar nodded with an earnest expression on his face.

Reluctantly, Dean handed the baby over to the blond. Initially, Johnny stiffened in the unfamiliar arms, but Balthazar gently rubbed his back and spoke softly in his ear as he carried him over to the big black car. Sam couldn't hear what he said, but it seemed to work as the tiny body again went limp.

Together, the brothers began guiding Cas back, with Sam opening the door while Dean maintained most of the angel's dead weight. The door gave its usual creak and Sam helped Dean lower Cas onto the seat and buckle him in. Dean was surprisingly... tender as he slid the belt over Cas's shoulder and then moved his right arm so that it would remain inside the cabin while the door was shut. Sam began to climb into the back of the car when he noticed that Balthazar might have been overselling his abilities.

"What happened to 'muscle memory?'" Dean asked the angel, apparently noticing himself.

"Did I mention the body was a World War I soldier, and the muscles might be getting Alzheimer's?" the angel said from the back seat as he continued to struggle against Johnny's ragdoll limbs and the three straps.

"Oh, for God's sake," Dean said as he moved to the back of the car and shoved Balthazar out of the way. With  _actual_  muscle memory that came from being a father, Dean had Johnny snapped in within seconds.

"And with that, I'll take my leave," Balthazar said, and like that, he vanished.

Sam climbed into the backseat beside Johnny, whose chest was still heaving with little hiccuping gasps. Thankfully, this would all be an awful memory, then a forgotten one in no time. He swiped the thick pad of his thumb over the baby's cheek to rid of of its last remnants of salty tears, and was just a little pleased that his nephew leaned into his touch. At the very least, Johnny would be okay after all of this.

That didn't mean Sam wasn't still worried about his brother, because that slumped posture, even when Cas's limp body slid down to rest against his arm, that wasn't good.

#

When a pair of hands settled at his eyes, and a familiar voice asked, "Surprised?" from behind him, Metatron could genuinely say that he wasn't. It was almost impossible for Balthazar to surprise him lately, though he had managed a few days ago in a very big way. But as he stood watching Gabriel and Crowley talk like they were more than familiar with one another, Metatron was relatively certain that he'd hit his quota for big surprises.

"I brought help," Crowley insisted as they continued their back-and-forth. He knew he was beat by Gabriel, King of Hell or not, because Gabriel was one of the original archangels, and that brought some significant firepower with it. As a result, the demon was beginning to sound a bit like a petulant child as he tried to negotiate the deal he wanted.

"You interfered," Gabriel said as he crossed into the spot beneath the devil's trap.

"I  _tried_  to help, and I  _did_  lead you to the angel and the boy. Don't I deserve something in return?"

"You don't tip the GPS," Gabriel said.

"It's not like I'm asking for Castiel. Just for you to return one of  _my_  demons..." At this, Meg scoffed. "...to Hell for a little reminder of who is in charge now. You can't tell me you wouldn't do the same if an angel started rebelling."

"It doesn't exactly work like that anymore," Gabriel said.

"Right. Because you have a 'kinder, gentler' administration now," Crowley said, disbelieving. "I have done what you asked, I have backed off of the Winchesters, I even gave them information. I wasn't doing that out of the kindness of my heart."

"Making deals with angels, again, Crowley? You think you'd learn that doesn't work well for you after how badly Cas burned you," Meg taunted. Metatron could hear the nervousness in her voice, despite the bold words.

"If I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut," Crowley said to the other demon, then turned his attention back to Gabriel. "Where is my fair share in this?"

"I have to apologize for your misunderstanding," Gabriel said as he neared Meg. To her credit, she didn't flinch as he stood beside her. "We are not, nor were we ever, partners in this. You were doing what I said because I told you to. Because I could fry your ass like all of your guards or I could just screw with you for a couple of centuries." Gabriel smirked. "Ask the Winchesters how creative I can be. And I  _liked_  them."

Gabriel snapped his fingers and in an instant, both he and Meg were gone. Crowley was seething. He pointed his finger at Metatron, and Balthazar, being the surprisingly protective angel that he was, half-stepped in front of the archangel. "No more working together. No more help. I am going to find every anti-angel ward I can, and I will study every way to kill one of you if you show up at my home again." Crowley made his tent and busted television vanish. "And if I find myself in a position to get my hands on an angel,  _any_  angel, don't expect me to be kind."

And with that, he was gone.

"It's almost amusing that he thinks we'll never have to work together again," Balthazar said.

"With any luck," Metatron said, "not for a long time."

Balthazar draped an arm around Metatron's shoulders. "So, we just saved Cassie and Johnny, pissed off the King of Hell and came out of it unscathed. What would you say to a drink? We could go to the pub tonight?" There was a suggestive tone to Balthazar's voice, which more or less defeated the purpose of the code about the pub.

"As soon as the brothers get back," the shorter angel told his friend. "We're not alone here, you know."

"Don't mind me," Emma said as she began rocking the bench swing slowly. "But I'm curious when you two finally got together."

Metatron was grateful for two things in that moment, that Balthazar had little shame and his own complexion was darker, so she could not see his blush and Balthazar's was non-existent. Still, it was relatively obvious that she had hit a nerve because they were both miserable actors. And yet, simultaneously, they tried to deflect her question.

"I don't know..."

"You're being..."

"It's really not..."

"Oh, bloody hell, we're screwing around a little, that's all." Balthazar squeezed Metatron's shoulders and the former human very nearly flew away from the sheer embarrassment. "Do you have any idea how long it has been since this guy got laid?  _Thousands_  of years. And he actually  _knows_  what it is like and went without."

While Metatron wanted the floor to swallow him whole, and he was resisting the urge to fly away, Balthazar was looking downright smug, and Emma was laughing. He was going to give the blond angel a piece of his mind later, which, based upon the last few days, would  _still_  probably end in sex.

They had been friends for centuries, but after the fight with all the demons in Arizona, things had taken a turn for the weird. They had been arguing about being reckless, about being overprotective, and they had been drinking. Somehow, the night had ended with them in bed together, Balthazar straddling his thighs and practically owning the definition of "pushy bottom."

Where they stood now, Metatron didn't know. They were still friends as far as he could tell, but with an incredible benefits package. The events from that night had repeated a few times now, and Metatron was man enough to admit that he wasn't man enough to make it stop.

Thankfully, any further talk or thought on the matter was interrupted by the roar of an engine.

"Don't worry," Emma said. "I'll keep your secret." And just as Metatron was starting to think nice thoughts about her, she added, "And thank you for watching out for me here, Metatron. Balthazar, you really should have seen him, twirling his blade around..."

"Really?" Balthazar said with that glint in his eyes. Metatron knew Balthazar well enough to know that the other angel's mind had gone straight to the gutter. Metatron was relatively certain that Balthazar would have a whole list of things he would want to try, based upon his imagination alone.

#

"Cas," said a warm voice, low and close to the angel's ear. It was deep and a little rough, but it made him smile. "Cas, we're home."

Blue eyes opened, and he realized he'd been leaning against Dean's arm while he slept. That was strange in itself, sleeping without the amulet, but he was still feeling a little fuzzy, like with the liquor store, but good. Castiel attempted to lift his head, and he raised his hand to the back of Dean's neck, gently scratching at the short hairs there. Accustomed now to a kiss first thing after waking up, or his own approximation of it, Castiel pulled his lover's head down and kissed him, though he only got the hunter's chin.

His aim was as off as the rest of his head.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked, placing a warm hand on Castiel's cheek. "Do you hurt?"

"I'm still tired, but I'm good. Really good."

"God patched you up?" His thumb was moving over the angel's cheek.

"Mmm..." It was all the new archangel could do not to fall asleep. "He did. I wish I could remember more of it." His brow furrowed. "I think he called me Cas, but that doesn't seem right."

"Why not?" Dean asked, and Castiel couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the man's concern. "Why is it strange he would call you Cas?" Castiel wondered if his worry was due to the fact that Dean used the nickname on a regular basis or that he feared something had gone wrong in Castiel's trip to heaven.

"The 'el' in most angel names mean, more or less, 'under God' or 'with God.'"

"What  _does_  your name mean?" Shame on Dean for not looking it up before. He might chastise him for it when Castiel wasn't feeling so... floaty.

"My shelter is God," Castiel answered.

"What does Cas mean?"

"Cas," the angel answered. Because where, specifically the name would break down once the end was cut off was difficult, at least in his current state. And he didn't want it to be anything else, anyway.

"And God isn't pissed about that?" Dean asked as Cas struggled with his seatbelt.

"No. He was amused when he saw that I wasn't a creature of light any longer." Dean started to ask what he was instead, and he answered before the man could finish the thought. "This." Then he waved behind him absently as Dean's hands unclicked the belt. "With wings. Six of them, now."

It was only at that point that Castiel noticed the movement behind them. Sam had already gotten Johnny out of his carseat and was pulling him from the car. The angel turned his attention back to the driver's seat, only to find it empty. Still in this very happy haze, Castiel began to wonder where Dean was, but could only vaguely process that the olive-colored figure moving across the windshield had to be the hunter. The passenger door opened and Dean slung one of Castiel's arms over his shoulders and placed another at his waist.

"Can you walk?" Dean asked, and he nodded, though he wasn't honestly that confident in his ability at that moment.

Together, they made their way to the house, where Metatron and Balthazar were looking almost sheepish—most would think the blond angel looked smug, but he was actually embarrassed; Castiel knew his younger brother well enough by now to recognize the expression. Emma was sitting on the bench swing.  _She_  looked a little smug.

Her smile became something genuine as she stood and walked over to their side, first giving attention to the little boy who was still sound asleep on his uncle's shoulder, then giving Cas a kiss on the cheek and telling him she was happy he was okay. Emma was a sweet young woman. The angel really hoped Sam married her one day. And that she did not meet the same sort of fate as his other romantic partners.

Dean was probably prepared to half-carry the angel all the way upstairs, but Balthazar sent them there, instead. He was a good brother.

Balthazar and Dean talked as Castiel attempted to sit upright on the bed, which was a much more difficult task than it shuld have been. Finally, Castiel felt the bed dip beside him and a warm hand take his—Deans, because he was certain Balthazar had left. "You're higher than a kite right now, aren't you?" Dean asked.

"No," Castiel said, "as most kites fly higher than two stories in order to properly catch the wind."

"No, high like really stoned, or drunk."

"Then yes, I would meet that definition of high." He leaned against Dean. "Can I sleep now?"

"No, Dean said. "You need washed first, to get rid of the smell of..." Dean made a face in disgust. "burned flesh."

The angel looked down at the T-shirt and jeans. "You liked these," he said. "I can repair them."

"Don't," Dean said. "I think I'd be happy if I never saw these again."

Castiel nodded, at least half understanding why Dean was so happy to get rid of them. He allowed himself to be manhandled back into a standing position. He leaned heavily against his partner as he guided him through the familiar pathways of their home. "I'm glad you didn't wind up in some bulky son of a bitch," Dean said as they made their way down the hall.

"I am sorry," Castiel said, attempting to take on more of his own weight.

"No, you don't need to be sorry, Cas." The arm around his waist tightened. "Really."

The angel turned his attention to the sound of footsteps down the hallway. Sam was carrying Johnny up the stairs, cooing into the boy's ear. He looked at Cas, concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, just getting Dopey here washed up before he crashes," Dean answered for them.

"I'll use the wipes on Johnny while he's out. Let him sleep." The baby was limp in the man's arms. "He definitely seems to need it."

Dean thanked him with a level of gratitude that seemed to relate to more than just his care for the baby. Castiel could only assume it was for everything Sam had done that day, and he thanked him seconds later for the same reasons.

Sam made his way to Johnny's room while Dean opened the bathroom door and brought the angel inside. They made their way over the rug that covered some of the white tiles that covered the floor. Castiel could tell that Dean was trying to be careful as he set the angel on the closed toilet lid.

Though Castiel was relatively sure he could undress himself, Dean pulled at the hem of his shirt and lifted it slowly over the angel's torso. Rough fingertips skimmed over skin as they pushed the soft cotton above his ribs and chest, and then strong hands guided his head and arms through the holes at the top. The angel was beginning to feel a bit like Johnny for all the care he was receiving. Castiel considered pointing out that Dean could be quicker about this, but it felt good, and it seemed to be what Dean felt he needed to do at that moment.

"I need you to stand," he said as he tossed the shirt in the dirty clothes bin. "You can lean on me while I get your pants off."

The hunter helped him stand, and Castiel allowed him to manhandle him because it still felt nice. Dean was warm, and he smelled good—underneath the smell of Castiel's own burned skin. The angel did at least take the initiative to wrap his arms around Dean's neck. He found that the hunter was looking at him, but not meeting his eyes, perhaps staring at his nose? It confused him, but a lot of things confused him at that moment.

Hands fumbled with the fly of Castiel's jeans. "You'd think I would be better at this." Dean huffed a mirthless laugh. The angel attempted to help, but his hands were batted away each time they got too close to Dean's work. It took far longer than it needed to, but again Castiel didn't say anything, before Dean finally got the zipper and button undone.

Dean's hands slipped beneath the waistband of Castiel's pants and underwear at his hips and began pulling them down. As he lowered the pants, Dean sunk to his knees and adjusted Castiel's hands to either of his shoulders so the angel could still lean on him if he needed to, and he did. The attention was nice, and the angel swore that, as soon as he was in the right frame of mind, he was going to return the favor.

Then, everything stopped and Dean took breath so sharp and so quick that his shoulders shook with the force. Castiel, still leaning on those shoulders rocked back in response. He looked down at Dean to try to understand what had him suddenly so disturbed. The hunter had been nearly on his knees when he stopped, and whatever he saw made him drop down with a soft thunk that could not have been healthy on the man's body.

"I thought Gabriel and Balthazar said they healed you," Dean nearly whispered.

"They did. I feel fine."

"Then what's this?" Dean asked, trailing his index finger over irregular skin that had been unmarred only hours before.

"Holy oil is a weapon for use against angels. Holy fire does damage to our vessels while we are in them," Castiel said. "It is only a scar."

"But that isn't 'healed.'"

"It is not an open wound, and it would have been without Gabriel's intervention. It will fade as my Grace works to repair the damage. It will just be a slow process."

Dean didn't seem to be listening. He was fixated on the marred skin, which he would touch and then pull away multiple times. Castiel didn't know if that was for his benefit or Dean's own that he always retracted his hand after touching the scar. "I should have made sure you were okay before we left, that Gabriel wasn't lying."

"He wasn't," Castiel insisted.

"I just didn't want to see..." And then Dean's shoulders shook again, repeatedly this time. Though he was silent, the hunter was sobbing, and the sight of Dean breaking made Castiel sober very quickly. He gently pulled Dean's hands from his hips and quickly dropped to his knees in front of the hunter.

Castiel felt something in his chest ache as he watched Dean cover his face with his hands. The man was practically digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he rasped, "I'm sorry."

He quickly pulled Dean close and wrapped his arms around shoulders that were normally so strong, but that now curled in on themselves under the weight of it all. There were very few platitudes he could offer right now. Telling Dean it wasn't his fault would not work; he was too far gone in his guilt to accept that as even a possibility. And Castiel was well aware that there was a shade of untruth to saying this was not Dean's fault. There were a number of factors that played a role in what happened, but Dean  _was_  of them, and to say otherwise would almost certainly ring false.

It didn't matter that Dean had spent every day since trying to redeem himself, even if it was unconscious effort. And when it came to the puppeteering that both sides so masterfully attempted with both brothers, Dean still managed to defy expectations.

Castiel was unsure how long they knelt there, Dean crying while the angel tried to offer comfort with his jeans still wrapped around his calves and ankles. Dean's hands-covered face remained buried in the angel's neck and collarbone, which muffled the soft apologies still tumbling from the man's lips. Human emotions were still so foreign to the angel, but he knew that his lover needed time to get this out of his system before he should say the words he spoke next.

"I don't blame you. I never did and never will," Castiel finally said when he thought it had gone on long enough. "You are not the first man to go from tortured to torturer. It is a sadly common occurrence in human war." He pulled Dean's hands from his face and held them firmly in his own. Still, Dean would not meet his eyes.

"We are better protected now. Bela is gone, I am more powerful and can no longer be summoned, and you have faced your fear that something might happen to Johnny or me, and you have seen we can survive. There is a small army of angels at your beck and call if we are ever in danger again. Powerful ones." He released Dean's hands and placed his own at either side of the man's stubbled face. He gently but forcefully made the head tilt up so that Dean had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

As Castiel had suspected, he found shame and self-loathing there. It was no different than when he had returned Dean from Hell. The guilt, however, may have been even stronger.

"You know that I met my Father, and I am certain he has wiped some of my memories for reasons known only to him, but I do remember one thing: I punched him."

Dean nearly smiled at that. It was something, at least.

"I railed at him for his treatment of the human race, of Sam, of you." Finally, Castiel saw those green eyes focus on him, not on his past or the ring of fire or Castiel's lifeless body. They stared at him in a way the angel had not realized was not normal until he began regularly interacting with humans who were not Dean Winchester.

"I really wish you would stop apologizing and believe me when I say I do not blame you. I wish that you would believe that you are a remarkable man." Dean tried to look away. "Would you at least believe I find you worthy?" Dean tried to argue, or perhaps to ask why, and Castiel really didn't have the words to articulate that now, so he soldiered on. "I punched  _God_ today. I yelled at him. But I am  _kneeling_  for  _you._  And he has  _rewarded_  me for it."

Hastily, Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's and waited for his partner to return the kiss. It was salty, it was desperate, but the response finally came.

They both needed that shower, but for now, it could wait. Castiel awkwardly raised his wings—the new ones did not have the grace in their movements that his primary set had—and cocooned them both on the bathroom floor. Dean couldn't see them, likely couldn't feel them, but Castiel still held hope they offered some comfort.


	52. Don't Fear the Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean worries about Johnny's safety and isn't sure h'es the best person for him.

" _You only live twice: Once when you're born and once when you look death in the face."_

_Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice_

Dean woke up feeling warm and content, though something was poking him in his nose. Opening his eyes, he realized it was Johnny's elbow. The hunter shifted back slightly and unwrapped his arms from around Cas's waist to rub at his previously flattened nose. He felt as though he had run a marathon the day before, but that wasn't really was not a shock.

_He withstood the guilt as long as he could until it all came crashing down. He knelt in front of Cas and broke. If it had been Sam instead, Dean imagined he might have held it all together because if there was one thing he'd learned, it was to stay strong for Sammy. But with Cas it was different. There was no prerequisite that he be strong for Cas._

_He knelt in front of him and felt the angel embrace him rather than blame him. He didn't placate him like Sam and he didn't berate him like his father would have. It was ages before they stood and climbed into the shower together. Dean was really going to have to teach Cas all about a fun shower because between the crying and the taking care of one another, it hadn't been the kind of fun they had wanted._

_Though it had been what they needed._

_Johnny woke just as they were headed down the hall, exhausted, themselves. Thankfully, he had just wanted to be with his parents and went straight to sleep as soon as they all reached the master bedroom._

He gently ran his fingers over his son's rounded cheeks—chubby like a baby's should be, not thin like they were when Cas first brought him to their dingy hotel room. He looked peaceful like this and perfectly at ease. Pale lashes flitted atop freckled cheeks as he dreamed something that was, thankfully, making him smile ever so slightly. Days like this, where he could just curl up with his parents on a lazy Saturday morning, they were what Johnny deserved. What he had gone through yesterday he should never have to experience, not once.

Sadly days like yesterday were more common than lazy ones when you were the son of a hunter.

Cas kept assuring Dean that they would make it right, all of it, with the help of the other angels, and he really wanted to believe him, but he had his doubts. Bela had done her research, and she wouldn't be the only one. Someone would find ways to keep Cas and the other angels out, just like she had. He needed answers, someone who could tell him that Johnny had other options beside him, or maybe, someone to tell him that Johnny didn't. Honestly, he wasn't sure which he was hoping for most.

Dean didn't trust Gabriel. Not entirely, not yet. Balthazar would probably tell Cas what Dean was asking just as quickly as Sam would tell Dean if the tables were turned. Right now, the hunter was just thinking of possibilities, and he didn't need to get into hot water with the angel sleeping in the bed right now. That left him with two options: Azrael and Metatron. He wasn't particularly comfortable with the angel of death normally, but after everything the day before, he was feeling very suspicious of her.

Slowly and gently, he disentangled his legs from Cas's. He watched as his partner rolled onto his back, but didn't appear to wake. Dean noticed that he'd grown a bit of stubble of the night—more than his usual scruff. He looked peaceful like that, with his lips parted and relaxed in sleep. He would probably hate Dean for even considering giving up Johnny so the boy could have the safe, normal life he deserved.

If there was one thing that Dean was spectacularly good at it was sacrificing his own happiness for those he loved.

He inched back on the bed, only to hear a soft "Dean," from the other side of the bed. He found blue eyes watching him intently.

"Hey," he said, forcing a small smile on his face.

"Are you okay? You seem troubled." That was a little bit of a given after the day before, but Dean didn't bother pointing it out to the angel.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. I'll be fine, just need to take a leak. Maybe get something to eat."

Cas started to move and Dean pushed him down on the bed firmly. "Get some rest. If you're actually awake instead of half-asleep once breakfast is ready, then you can come down."

"Pancakes?" Cas asked through a yawn.

"If we have the stuff."

The angel closed his eyes and smiled. It was odd, Dean thought, that despite a love for red meat, Cas had grown to develop such a sweet tooth. They all did, the angels, to varying degrees, but Cas's was going to rival Gabriel's if it kept on at this rate. He wondered if there was some connection to the amount of time an angel spent on earth.

Not that it explained Azrael, the freak of nature that she was.

Dean climbed out of bed and did exactly as he'd told the angel he would. First was to take care of business in the bathroom, next was breakfast. But he was going to have another guest if he had anything to say about it. Metatron didn't seem to be as bad as Gabriel, but he would still put a dent in the pancakes, and to make enough for the whole house, it was going to take a whole pile of the things. They already had Emma added to their usual four, and from the look of Jody's coat by the door, she was going to make six.

"Metatron, dude, if you can hear me, I could use a little advice right about now."

He began breakfast prep as he waited for the angel to show. Thankfully, they had plenty of pancake mix from their last trip to the bulk store, so Cas would be happy. At least, he would be as long as Dean didn't drop it onto the floor—which he nearly did—at the sound of wings nearly a minute later.

He turned around and was surprised for a second time in less than a minute. The usually unflappable Metatron looked really … flapped. His hair was pulled back in a kind of lopsided ponytail, his collar was buttoned up like a priest's in a way known to all teen and pre-teen boys trying to hide a hickey, and his eyes had a little bit of that "animal caught in the headlights" look.

"The wife or Balthazar?" Dean asked as he set the box on the table.

"What?" the shorter angel asked.

"The wife or Balthazar. I definitely interrupted, and Balthazar's been looking at you like the last coconut on a deserted island since I met you."

"You didn't call me down here to talk about my love life. So what is the problem?" Apparently Dean interrupted in the middle, if the level of snark in the usually calm angel's demeanor was anything to go by.

"Balthazar, then." When Metatron began to pull a face worthy of Sam, Dean raised his hands in defense. "I'm not judging. I swear I won't tell anyone, even Cas. Just like I'm going to ask you not to tell anyone about this."

"That depends entirely upon what you've brought me here to talk about." Dark eyes watched him closely. Dean bet, in his days as Enoch, Metatron had been an intimidating fucker to his other tribal members. But since Dean stood nearly a head taller than him, it lost some of its effectiveness, and because Metatron didn't have the twisted sense of humor that Gabriel did to make up for his stature, he was about as intimidating as the angel upstairs currently drooling on to the pillow.

"Look, we got Johnny out safely this time, but there is going to be a next, and he's going to learn about the monsters under the bed before he even believes in Santa, the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy."

"That last one is real, or was, by the way. Garth Fitzgerald killed it in his dental office."

"You're shitting me." Dean wasn't sure what he found hardest to believe, that the Tooth Fairy really had been real or that Garth used to be a dentist. He shook his head. "You're distracting me."

"From considering the idea that you should send Johnny away from his home? You can bet that I am." Metatron sighed. "Dean, he's meant to be your boy. Yes, that means he will see and do things you'll wish he never had, but he's made of strong stuff. Giving him to anyone else won't do him any favors because that boy is crazy about you and Cas. I know you can't see or feel his soul, but when it is around you two, it is quite possibly one of the most beautiful things I have seen. And if that isn't enough to convince you, then let me assure you I can do absolutely nothing to help you in this."

"What do you mean?"

"Therere is only one angel who can help you with this, and that is Azrael. She was the one who insisted you and Castiel needed a push in the right direction and made sure that when Johnny was born, he would be, in everything but biology, your son."

"She didn't even know us then."

Metatron offered a knowing smile "You already suspect that isn't true. I think she has known you for a few years now."

Dean stared at the angel. "You knew?"

"I wondered, but I have been forced to jump all over time to record it for God. Keeping track of a single thread is difficult. Yesterday proved it for me. That warehouse was warded against all angels. She shouldn't have been able to get in by removing just one symbol. Especially a symbol that has nothing to do with angels."

The blood went cold in the hunter's veins and even the  _consideration_  that he might need to send Johnny to be with someone else vanished at the possibility that Azrael could pose the biggest threat of them all to the baby. He ran out of the house and got in the Impala. He had some errands to run before he dealt with this.

#

"Miss Masters, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to the cricket match?"

Meg didn't know how or why she found herself in a cream beaded gown or why Gabriel was offering his arm and speaking in a British accent. "Where are we?"

"Downton Abbey. I thought this might entertain you while you lay low from Crowley."

"How long will you be keeping me here?" Meg asked, not buying for one second that this wasn't a very elaborate prison.

"Just long enough for his hounds to lose your scent. And to enjoy a game of cricket." Gabriel took her hand and placed it in the crook of his white-shirt-covered arm. He looked like he was going to play a game, unless he was just trying to live up to his angelic reputation with all that white and cream. "Just remember that there's a Mr. Crawley, not Crowley here."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said wryly as they walked across the grounds of an immense old British property. "Seriously, though, what are we doing here?"

"I'm offering you a chance to give me that necklace." Meg's left hand immediately went to her neck. It was still there, which made no sense if he wanted it. "I could have just taken it myself, but I want you to hand it over of your own free will. We're big on that now, free will."

She eyed him suspiciously. "If you take it from me, would it still work?" It had been created by a demon, so maybe if it wasn't handed over willingly...

"You mean, does it tell a person if Sam Winchester would still be a viable vessel? Or let you know if Lucifer is nearby? Yes, that still works, even for me." He looked at her levelly. "I want the necklace because I think you have more potential."

"For what?" Meg asked as they approached more people dressed in cream and white.

"To be good." The demon twisted her face in disgust at that. "I think if things had gone another way, Castiel could have been a good influence on you."

"So what? You're volunteering to be an angel on my shoulder, or something?"

"Consider me your DA—demon's anonymous—sponsor. I'm willing to get you doing the right thing because I still think it's possible. That says a lot, considering I'm fairly sure you helped Bela torture one of my little brothers, maybe even knew she'd kill them."

"Turning the other cheek?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.

"Calculating the benefits," he said. "You should know by now that angels can be as manipulative as demons. Some of my brothers simply aren't creative."

"And you are?"

"Very. I'm also perceptive. You've got to be suicidal to be trying the things you've been doing, trying to let my brothers loose. You know Michael will annihilate you, but you must have realized that Lucifer isn't going to help you, either, if he gets into power." He looked over at one of the women seated nearby. "Hello, Edith," he said with a wink and a point of his finger in her direction. Edith waved back and a dark-haired woman began chastising her. Probably an older sister. Meg didn't have time for this British soap opera shit.

Then he turned back to Meg. "You know, it's always the quiet ones... Though I did get last seasons' versions of Edith, Mary and Sybil to..."

"Enough," Meg said, cutting off the stupid little bastard. "Besides, you're controlling this. You don't get to brag about masturbation. That's what it is, you know."

The angel actually laughed at that. Meg wasn't used to angels with a sense of humor about themselves. "This is why I keep pushing for a change up top. We need more people who can make a crack about jacking off."

He left Meg so that he could join the cricket match, taking over for a surly but pretty man with dark hair and gloves.

"You and Mr. Pratten seemed to know one another well," said the voice of the dark-haired sister who had reprimanded her sister earlier. It seemed hypocritical, given what Gabriel had told her, and Meg wasn't a fan of hypocrites.

"Not nearly as well as I've heard you do." She grinned when he saw the woman begin to flame bright red.

Meg had not intention of giving in, but while she was here, she could have a little fun.

#

Dean couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he set up the spread of greasy, fattening foods on the picnic table in the deserted park. The waitress at the diner probably thought ht was crazy, ordering all of this at six in the morning, but he needed bait, and the prey liked junk food.

"Azrael, if you could come down, I've got food and I need to talk to you about Johnny."

He nearly jumped out of his skin when, only seconds later, a voice behind him said, "I wondered when we would have this little chat."

She didn't look any different than before, didn't move any different, but now that Dean  _knew_ , he couldn't  _not_  see it. And it made him wonder why he hadn't before.

"'This chat?'" Dean asked.

"The one where you tell me you aren't cut out to be a father and Johnny is better off without you. Where you've talked to the other angels and found out I'm the one who made sure you have your son. Where you want answers as to why." She looked at him earnestly. "He isn't, by the way. Meant to be anyone else's son. He was made to be yours. Yours and Castiel's." She looked at the mini buffet Dean had spread out for her and pointed to one of the containers. "What are these?"

"Pickle chips. Deep fried. Supposedly the best in the state."

Azrael popped one in her mouth and chewed a bit before offering the faintest smile. "These are quite good."

"They aren't Chicago deep dish, but I thought they'd do." Dean was laying on the false bravado now.

The lean female body shifted into a male form, one Dean hadn't seen in over a year. "So, Dean. You've found me out, lured me here with food and tried so set a trap under the table. By the way, the sigil with the infinity symbol doesn't work anymore. I worked it out with God."

"You keep away from my family!"

"And there is that famous false bravado," the other man said. "You will keep me away with what, Dean?"

"There are rituals."

"Cleared those with God, too."

"So there's no way to keep you away?" Dean asked.

"You should know that you can't escape Death."


	53. Family Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Azrael have a little talk.

" _Yet even in the loneliness of the canyon I knew there were others like me who had brothers that did not understand but wanted to help. We are probably those referred to as 'our brother's keepers.' possessed of one of the oldest and possibly one of the most futile and certainly one of the most haunting instincts. It will not let us go."_

_Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories._

"So what is this all about, really?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"It's a thank you," Death said as he sat at the picnic table and began double-fisting the food, pickle chips with one hand, cheese fries with another. "For stopping the Apocalypse."

"Look, I get that you were seriously pissed off that you were tied to Lucifer during that, but all of this? Isn't it just a little much? You already put up the wall in Sam's head, pulled him out of the cage, and apparently kept Adam from being tossed in."

It wasn't really a surprise that Dean was looking for the other end of this bargain. Having a family history of deals, manipulation and string-pulling, of course the hunter was going to wait for the other shoe to drop. And the wall wasn't that good of a deal anyway, though it did no good to point that out now. Sam was picking at it, unintentionally, and so was everything on the other side. But that could be resolved in time.

"There was a lot more going on during the Apocalypse than you know. I had a... horse in that race, you might say."

"Michael or Lucifer?" Dean asked, probably assuming the former rather than latter.

"God."

_With a single explosion, the entire universe was gone, nothingness. For the first time in his life, he experienced true wrath followed by immense satisfaction as he killed his predecessor and became Death for this cycle. His mother gone, many of his siblings destroyed, and yet Death felt oddly at peace with the darkness and blankness of it all. It was in his nature to seek the least chaos possible, but he was disgusted by it when he felt he should not be at ease._

_In the darkness, he could hear crying. He sought it out because he knew who it would belong to, the one bright spot in the blanket of black. Death didn't need to touch him, didn't need to let him know he was there because he had always known. "Brother..." the smaller form embraced him, the only one of their siblings who had ever been allowed to do so. "She's gone. It's all gone."_

_"Some of our brothers and sisters have survived."_

_"But Mother is gone. He killed her."_

_"And I reaped him." Though the previous Death had tried to escape his fate, had thought himself the new ruler of the cosmos, he forgot that the cycle always ended this way._

_"Good," his brother said, sounding far more bitter than Death could recall. He was silent for some time, bathed only in the glow that seemed to come from him, looking around at the nearly empty space around them. "You like this, don't you?"_

_"It is calm and peaceful, save for our brothers and sisters who are conspiring to make themselves gods. Over what, I am not sure, as there is nothing left." Hera, Odin, Kali... they would scrabble among themselves for power even if all that was left was a single speck of dust. Death looked at his brother, saw the fear in too-young eyes - he wasn't supposed to pick up the mantle of God for millennia, perhaps longer, and he was still so young. "But you are uncomfortable."_

_"I don't like the dark and nothingness," he replied in a hushed voice, as though he was ashamed of this admission. "It makes me ... uncomfortable."_

_"Then fix it. You're the great Creator now." The chaos and the noise would leave Death always feeling a little on edge, but he could learn to live with it so that his brother was happy._

_"But you are happy as it is.."_

_"Not if you are not," Death said. "Let there be light, little brother."_

"If you were on God's side, then why thank me for stopping his plans?" Dean asked. He looked like he wanted to find a weapon to shoot Death, if he could, but the hunter seemed to have enough common sense to know he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Because his plans ended in his death." And there was the shock on Dean's face that Death had been waiting for. "The Apocalypse is his suicide note. Once it was over and someone competent of ruling had taken over the various planes of existence, I would reap him and someone else would be God."

_"I can't do this any longer," he said, looking up at Death with genuine anguish in his eyes. Death had wanted to reprimand him, first for playing favorites in the first place, second for making Michael handle the mess with Lucifer when that had been God's job. But he knew that the universe was vast and he had so much to oversee, so much that still needed creating after the complete obliteration at the close of the last cycle. He had to delegate authority; it was the nature of the job. "I am a terrible God."_

_"You had to become God too young." Technically, neither knew who was older, but Death had been given a purpose earlier than his brother. He had just naturally fallen into the role of older brother as he grew and matured more quickly. "I won't reap you just because your sons are causing you trouble."_

_"I want you to promise me. If I set forth a series of events to find my successor, you will reap me when it's all over." Death began to argue, but as always, his brother got to him with a "Please."_

_"Fine, but not until you've tired with your latest experiment. You seemed quite pleased with those little..." He glanced down at the earth and the growing population of tiny things moving about like vermin across the planet. "What did you call them? Humans?"_

"You didn't sound all that upset about it when we met in Chicago."

"I was trying to resign myself to what that stupid, selfish, immature bastard was about to make me do." He may have killed a pickle chip, if that were possible for how tightly he squeezed it in his hand. Death hadn't raised his voice, he never did, but it had been enough of a tell for the perceptive Winchester brother to shake his head and actually laugh.

"He's family. You and God, you're family, aren't you? Only way someone gets that angry at somebody else."

"Brothers, of a sort. The genders were a little different then. It is why he clings to the use of He with a capital H, and I am more than fluid with taking a variety of forms to suit the species I am interacting with at any given time." He took one of the paper napkins, which were much too thin, and wiped his hand of the decimated pickle and breading.

"What the fuck is it with you people and brothers killing brothers?"

"It has been an unintentional theme," Death said.

_"Please, Lord, you can explain to them," Cain prayed. Death watched at his brother's side while Gabriel landed beside the man. "Tell them that we were merely vessels for your angels, that it was Michael who killed my brother to trap Lucifer and that it was not I who harmed him." Cain was crying for his lost brother, and history would remember him only as a petty, cruel man who was unendingly jealous of his more successful sibling._

_"The world cannot know what actually happened here," Gabriel said blandly, startling Cain. He hadn't bothered to take a vessel, so he stood before him in his true form. He was near-blinding light and the poor human had to look away from the overwhelming sight that, thankfully, didn't actually blind him. "You have served your Lord well, and while he cannot grant you what you ask, he will reward you with a full and happy life."_

_"I will be exiled from my family. I will be an outcast. My brother will still be dead. How will I be happy?"_

_Gabriel got so close to Cain's face that the human had no choice but to look at his light. "You are not dead, or imprisoned like my brother. I can easily remedy that." Sending the angry angel down to act as messenger was almost as foolish as making Michael resolve the issue of Lucifer._

"If someone saved Sam's life for you, wouldn't you try to find a way to thank them? Wouldn't you be grateful that you didn't have to kill him?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course I would."

"One day, hopefully one day in the very distant future, I will be forced to kneel before the individual who will take my place and beg them to end my life because my brother is dead and I will not want to, nor will I be able to, go on living. You and your Team Free Will piqued my brother's interest and it is because of you that that day is not today."

If there was one thing Dean could understand, it was the weight that hangs over older brothers, and he seemed far more at ease with Death now, even going so far as to sit on the bench opposite him. "God wanted to die because he was bored?"

"Among other reasons. The amount of war committed in his name, many of the rational people no longer worshiping him - he won't admit it but he is a bit of an attention whore - the weight of knowing Lucifer was still locked away and Michael had, since their first battle, had become little more than a dutiful automaton. Now, I think he's curious and he sees in your family the spark that made him want to create humanity in the first place." Death moved on to a particularly cheese and bacon-covered burger. "I wanted you to have Johnny, with my brother's blessing, because I wanted your family to keep going, to keep holding his interest."

Dean took another of the burgers, talking as he did so. He had the table manners of an undomesticated animal, but Death still quite liked him. "So, what about Johnny's safety in all of this?"

"We will all do what we can, but I can promise you that if that boy had been left with his mother, he would be dead before the age of three." He could hear the irregular heartbeat in his dining companion just at the thought his son would die so young. "No one in town really knew she had a child, and he would not have been missed until one of his regular check-ups or home inspections came along."

And then, they talked. Not about Dean's idiotic plan to give his son up to a "better life" because there just wasn't a life that was better for that boy than the one he had. Instead, they talked about God and Death, their Mother and her demise. Dean asked questions and Death supplied them far more easily than he had thought he would. It was, perhaps, a relief discuss these matters with someone who was not his brother. He discussed his theories that the transition from one cycle to the next did not need to involve an Apocalypse or the destruction of the entire universe; maybe it could be no different than the passing of a torch, peaceful and respectful.

He still had time to find out.

"So you gave him power over you so that you wouldn't kill him?" Dean asked before trying one of the pickle chips and, apparently, not liking them as well as Death.

"And he handed it to Lucifer so I wouldn't stop him."

"Sounds like the two of you communicate as well as me and Sammy."

"Indeed," Death replied.

_Appearing as Azrael, Death slammed God into the wall. "You enslaved me to the brat."_

_"I'm sorry," God said, sounding all the more pathetic in the form of Chuck. "But you would have stopped me."_

_"I bloody well would have, you self-centered little toad."_

_"I understand you're angry, but if he senses I am in danger, Raphael will come and attack you."_

_"'Azrael' relieved him, and your girlfriend is upstairs in bed, deep asleep. So it is just you and me." Frighteningly, there was no fear in his brother's eyes, only resignation._

Dean was in the process of reaching across the table when Death placed his hand on the man's head. "Sorry Dean, but I've existed for years in these forms, and I cannot have you telling others."

The hunter was bracing himself, probably for a memory wipe, and Death could only smirk as the man's face turned to one of confusion as the ancient being's hand withdrew and his memory remained intact. With a wry smile, Death took another burger. "I am not a petty little angel, Dean. I don't have to make you forget if I don't want you to be able to communicate something. And yes, that includes speaking, writing, sign language, charades and interpretive dance."

Indignation, anger, confusion and fear passed across Dean's face.

"I also know if I make you forget, you're so dogged about stuff like this that you will insist on uncovering the mystery of Azrael over and over again. While I appreciate the buffet, you don't make nearly enough with your new, legitimate job to do this on a regular basis." Death took a bite of the sandwich and watched as Dean tried to articulate what was going on in his head. It was a bit like watching a dog trying to eat taffy.

"Where the hell do you get off?!" Dean finally asked when the words came to him. "You don't have the right to dictate whether I tell my family about the fact that Death is a houseguest."

"I do, actually," Death said. "But I am giving you the option about whether I am. A houseguest, that is."

"You're saying that, if I give the word, you won't turn up. Not as Azrael, not as Death, not as anyone else?"

"Exactly." It was only fair, after all. And Death had to give bonus points, if he were giving bonus points, to the fact Dean had pieced together that the being might have forms beyond even those most familiar ones.

"And you will abide by that?"

"I handed over power to bind myself. I am more than capable of fulfilling a promise. Though I make no promise to stay away in the case of an emergency."

Dean ate a small amount of the food he had purchased and seemed to mull around the possibilities. "We will give this a trial run, me knowing, you playing Auntie Azrael. Because Cas will get suspicious, and he'll piece it together, otherwise, and you obviously don't want that and I like my angels un-brainwashed. But if it doesn't work, I want you to stay away. And if Cas does figure this all out, I want to be able to talk with him about it. Same goes for Sam or Bobby."

The hunter was improving in his negotiating abilities. "Fine. And you have my permission to talk with Metatron, as I am sure he already knows. Now, pass me the cheese fries."

#

Sam was not as skilled in tracking Dean as his brother was in tracking him, but he  _did_  manage to find him doing exactly what Sam had hoped he wouldn't be doing. Sam had become suspicious when he'd gone downstairs to make coffee for himself and Emma and found an abandoned box of pancake mix and large mixing bowl untouched on the kitchen counter. He'd taken one of the old beaters that Bobby—maybe Dean—had gotten running and drove off on the hunt for his idiot brother.

As he drove, Sam had prayed to Balthazar, seeking an answer. The blond angel had appeared in the passenger seat of the old Chrysler and explained that Metatron had been invited down in the middle of their "pub time." Sam had decided not to poke that with a stick and risk finding out what it  _actually_  meant.

Balthazar had been able to offer a guess at why Dean had prayed to Metatron, though, and it had sent Sam searching the area for his brother.

"You stupid idiot," Sam said as he approached the table where the female angel was watching him with barely concealed amusement.

Dean looked up from the food he was sharing with Azrael and for a split second actually tried to look like he hadn't been doing anything suspicious. Sam knew the look too well to actually buy it, and he yanked his brother to his feet. "Listen to me: Cas is going to be awake any time now, if he isn't already, and he's bound to wonder where you've gone."

And for just a moment, his brother looked panicked. And it was a damned good thing, too. Because he needed to consider the fact that Cas would probably kill Dean for doing this.  _Sam_  wanted to kill Dean for even considering it because Johnny was his fucking nephew and he didn't want him to go. He'd die before he let the kid be hurt.

"Azrael, can you do me a favor?" he asked, and she inclined her head. "I'm going to drag my moron of a brother back home. Can you make sure the clunker I drove here in gets back to the salvage yard?"

"Of course," she said with a smile.

With that, Sam grabbed Dean by the back of his collar. "I don't know what you were thinking." That was a lie, because he knew his brother well enough to hazard a guess as to what was going through Dean's head. "But you are going to thank me for this later when Cas hasn't tried to kill you, and you get to spend time with your son."

"If it makes you feel any better," Dean said as he was being dragged beside his younger brother, "I changed my mind already."

"It really doesn't. You're a parent now. You can't just bail on your son because you think someone else might do a better job than you." He berated his brother the entire way to the Impala, and Dean only balked when Sam asked for the keys. Smart man, because Sam wasn't having it, and neither would Cas if he found out.

Damn Dean and his low self-esteem; this had to stop.


	54. Facing the Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean must now deal with an angry Cas.

" _And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do./ The movement you need is on your shoulder."_

_The Beatles, Hey Jude (so sue me, I'm quoting it twice)_

When Baby pulled up the driveway to Bobby's house, Dean could see there was already an agitated angel pacing the front porch. He looked to have been pacing, but stopped the moment the car was in view. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Cas was pissed. It was all right there in his body language. His usually relaxed, nearly slumped posture was ramrod straight. His movements were quick and agitated. And his face was twisted in anger as he turned to the screen door on the porch and yelled to someone inside.

Emma stepped out wearing a T-shirt and shorts, obviously having taken the time to dress, though Cas had remained in his pajamas, and took Johnny from the angel. She cradled the baby carefully as Bobby and Josie—looking disappointed and furious, respectively—appeared at the doorway. The blonde pointed in the direction of the black vehicle now coming to a stop in the driveway and Dean realized that she was siccing Cas on him.

Free of their son, the angel was able to move from the front of the house, and before Dean had barely allowed his fingertips to brush the metal of the door handle, the angel was ripping the door open forcefully. The hunter didn't even have time to tell him to be careful with Baby, as the words turned into an undignified squawk as he was hauled by his coat collar for the second time in an hour, this time out of the car. There was no gentleness, and Cas certainly gave the hunter no time to get his feet out from under the dash slowly without banging knees and awkward turns of ankles and hips. Cas was pulling without any consideration for Dean's temporary discomfort. Dean didn't blame him.

Dean struggled to find solid footing as the considerably stronger—even by Cas's usual standards—angel was forcing him from the Impala.

"Just what, exactly, do you think you are doing? You don't get to make unilateral decisions about  _our son_." If Cas actually wanted an answer from Dean, he wasn't going about it in the right way, since the collar of his shirt was tight at his neck and not making it easy for him to breathe, let alone speak. "I do not know what you have planned, but I will not be separated from him." Dean could hear emotion thick in Cas's voice, despite the anger. "Even if I must be separated from you."

The hunter pulled at the collar and finally managed to offer insurances of his own. "I'm not giving him away. I considered it, but only to make sure he'd be safe." The grip loosened slightly at his collar. "I realized that he is as safe as any kid of mine could be, safe as most kids can be with all the extra help we have now."

"Who did you get these reassurances from?" Cas said. His eyes were still narrowly focused on Dean, but he did at least relinquish his hold on the man's clothes.

"Azrael."

And for a split second, Dean might have said that Cas seemed to be jealous, but the emotion flitted from his partner's face as quickly as it appeared. "And she could tell you something I could not?" He was trying to sound interested, but Dean had been in this position often enough with Bobby and Sam, and even Cas, himself, to know that Cas was hurt he hadn't been enough to calm the hunter's mind.

Being Dean, he barreled on ahead and tried to tell Cas everything, including what he'd been specifically told he couldn't, but the words just wouldn't come out. Stupid, ancient creature of death and that damned wall he'd put up in his mind. "She told me Johnny didn't come into our care by accident. He's supposed to be here, and even if my own mess of a head tells me I should send him somewhere safer, that really isn't an option."

He looked helplessly at the angel. Because this time the explanation was as difficult to tell, but it had nothing to do with Death's wall in his mind. It came from a childhood that still made him wake up in fear at times, that had ingrained in his head how important Sam was, especially compared to Dean. "But I'll defy her, too, if I think he'll end up like me." It was a quiet admission, but it was something.

Cas was staring at him, poking around in Dean's head. He could feel him there like a gentle presence in the back of his mind. "There are worse things in the world than ending up a man like you, Dean," the angel said, though Dean wasn't entirely sure he was saying it in Dean's head or speaking the words aloud.

#

_The shotgun was small, but still huge in Dean's small hands as his Dad showed him how to use it, helping his aim and curling his fingers around Dean's. The gun was loud, but when he'd tried to pull his hands away from the shotgun to rub at his ears, they were covered and placed back at the trigger and fore-end of the weapon. "Keep firing."_

#

_Dean had cooked dinner. Nothing special, just some spaghetti cooked on the hotplate they kept in the Impala for hotels like this one that didn't have any real kitchenette. He set a plate in front of Sammy first, naturally, then Dad. Sammy started digging in, then realized he needed to thank his brother. Dad said nothing, hadn't said anything for days now, not to Dean at least. He ate the meal Dean had made in silence as he looked over newspaper clippings for any sign of another hunt. Dean knew he was still looking for signs of the shtriga, even though weeks had passed since Dad came back empty handed and collected Sammy and Dean from Pastor Jim's to keep close while he went hunt two states over._

_Sammy frowned and looked between his father and brother. "Eat, Dean."_

_Dean put on a smile. "Already did, kid." He hadn't. He'd just lost his appetite._

#

_Though Dean loved his new amulet, he hated the look in Sam's eyes now that he knew. Dean would have given anything not to do that to him. They'd never been the sort to do the Easter Bunny or Santa, but Dean liked to think Sam had still gotten to be a kid. Now, Sam was looking at every corner and every shadow because he knew all those monsters he'd been scared of were actually real. And Dean hated himself for being the one to tell him._

#

_After a week of Dean looking on his own for Sam, John came home. He'd been furious, that Dean had lost Sam and that Dean hadn't tried to call him and let him know. And the older brother knew that he deserved that anger. On both counts._

_All Dean could do was hope that_ when  _they found Sam—because he couldn't imagine not finding Sammy—the bruises had faded. Or he could find a good cover story for his injuries. Sam would never forgive their dad, and maybe not himself either, if he realized just how bad Dad's temper had gotten when he realized Sam was missing._

#

_John had been so proud, so pleased with Dean when he'd killed his first werewolf. They'd leaned against the Impala after Sammy had gone to bed and John had popped open a beer for him. Sixteen years old and he'd killed this thing that looked almost human, but not. And when it was dying... it hadn't been any different than any other human. It—he had gasped and looked up at Dean in shock, unable to say anything as he took his last breaths._

_But John was proud, and Dean would have given anything for that._

#

_Images of kill after kill after hunt. They flashed in front of Dean's mind. It got to the point that when he stared in the mirror, he wasn't sure he recognized the man looking back. Then... he began to recognize the man, but he couldn't picture himself the boy he'd once been. He couldn't remember a time when his eyes hadn't looked just a little dead, when the whiskey bottle hadn't been his favorite nighttime companion._

#

Cas's hand shifted down to the hunter's cheek and gently cupped it. Something softened in his face at that moment, and before Dean could yell at him for the fact that it looked something like pity, he began to feel the familiar pull of traveling angel express.

#

"You need to blow into the trumpet a little differently, Lucy," Johnny told the little girl seated on the stage. "You're humming, and though I'd say to go ahead for jazz, but 'Hey Jude' isn't jazz, so try as hard as you can not to hum." He gave her a smile and placed his hand on the back of her chair.

"Okay, Mr. Winchester." She played again, concentrating so hard that the young man was certain she would go cross-eyed. Still, she wasn't humming and that was an improvement. He was glad he loved the song and had plenty of happy childhood memories of it, because he was pretty sure that listening to an elementary school band try to play it might have ruined the song for him, otherwise.

Johnny moved over to the drummer and began to show him how to hold the stick a little less stiffly on the snare drum when one of his other trumpet players suddenly said, sounding slightly worried, "Mr. Winchester... there are two men in the audience, and I think one of them is in his pajamas."

Turning around quickly, prepared to fight if he had to, Johnny had to admit he was a little relieved, if perturbed to see his parents standing there. He let out a long sigh. "It's okay. They're family."

"But aren't they supposed to wear their passes? And go through the office first?" the boy asked.

"They are," Johnny said. "I'll go and tell them now." He walked to the edge of the stage and hopped down. His parents were halfway back in the auditorium, at the edge of the middle section of seats, just standing and staring. Dad was dressed and so, so young. Tad, naturally, didn't look much different, though he had no gray to his hair—something he'd adopted as a compromise to Dad's insistence he stay looking the same and his own desire to "age" along with Dad. Both of them were looking at him with something akin to awe, but then again, they always did when he met them out of the correct timeline.

The fact that he sometimes had to keep track of this sort of thing was the weird world that was his life, but he didn't regret it for a second.

"Hey Dad, hey Tad," he said. "You're freaking out my students, you know." He looked down at Tad's flannel pants. "Nice Pjs."

"You're a music teacher?" Dad asked, looking completely overwhelmed. He was swallowing a lot, which he did when he was getting choked up and trying not to cry.

"Student teacher. As soon as I'm done this, I'll have my master's." He saw his tad, keeping his emotions in check in a way he didn't bother to do anymore, or maybe he felt them more strongly now that he'd been on earth a few decades; Johnny had never really considered why the change had happened over the years. He smiled at the sight of his tad's dark, messy hair. Dad, though, he was completely different. He didn't have the worry lines around his eyes, had fewer laugh lines at his lips, but his gaze was heavier and sadder than the last time Johnny had seen him. How was it that this was probably the youngest Johnny had ever seen him, but something about him actually looked older?

"That's... that's awesome," Dad said, sounding choked up. Tad was just looking at him like he was unbelievably fucking proud.

"You do not seem surprised to see us here." Tad was doing that head thing of his, which Johnny was told he did, too. Apparently, Tad hadn't expected this would be a little blasé to Johnny, but seriously, after twenty-four years in this family, there was very little that shocked the young man.

"Oh, I am, and I'm going to fucking smack you both tonight for not warning me," he said in a hushed voice. He couldn't help but notice pleased but almost surprised expressions on his parents' faces at the information they were still around and presumably together. This must have been seriously early days for them if that still came as a little bit of a surprise. "So... what brings you back here  _this_  time?"

"This happens often?" Tad asked, head still tilted.

"Enough. I've got an angel and a hunter for my fathers. Weird shit happens."

"But you're... I mean, you're okay?" Dad asked, and Johnny knew the answer to his own question.

The young man just rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. "Yes, I'm fine. Though your insecurity about this stuff is seriously fucking annoying." He was really going to have to work on his swearing, but now was not the time, as long as he kept it quiet enough that the kids didn't hear. "And inconvenient, too." When his dad looked a little hurt by that—which meant he was really hurt and eating his feelings in the way only his dad could do—Johnny tried a different approach. "If Uncle Sammy—"

"You call him Uncle Sammy?" Dad asked, latching on to what he could that wasn't a critique of himself. Seriously, all of the people who messed up his dad's self-worth needed an ass kicking.

"My birthday's on the Fourth of July. I don't need an Uncle Sam, too," Johnny said with a smirk, and it made Dad's lips quirk slightly. Tad didn't seem to get the reference. Still, he soldiered on with his example. Dad could explain Uncle Sam later. "If Uncle Sammy complained about how dumb he was or how bad he was going to do on something with the law or with research, what would you do?"

"I'd tell him he was wrong and he'd be awesome," Dad answered without hesitation.

"And if he kept saying it?"

"I'd smack sense into his head and point out he's one of the smartest people I know."

"And  _that_  is why I get so frustrated with you. You're awesome, but you just don't believe it. I  _still_  don't know if you believe it." There was something in his Dad's eyes that bothered him, like he'd nearly given up. Sadly, Johnny knew the look way too well, even if he never understood why his Dad got so down on himself at times. He leaned forward and hugged his Dad, squeezing him tight and smiling when hands slowly shifted up and gripped Johnny's dress shirt tightly.

"It was Bela, wasn't it?" Johnny asked quietly.

Dad took a deep, sharp breath and pulled back to look at him. "How do you...?"

"You tell me some. Others I read in the Supernatural books. I don't know all, but I know enough of it, Dad." He hugged him again, mostly because he knew his Dad would want to compose himself again. Dad's past had always been an issue, and he'd always dreaded Johnny would learn what he'd been forced to do. Johnny knew well enough by now to give him time.

They stayed like that for several moments before Johnny turned to his tad and hugged him, too. "Your timing sucks, but I'm glad you brought him here. Don't let him be an idiot too often."

"I will try." Tad was awkward as he hugged him back, but Johnny knew he would get more accustomed to that in time, too. He pulled back after a few moments.

"Now, you're freaking out my kids with the pajamas. Go home, be the dads my friends are all jealous of and I'll see you in about twenty-odd years time for dinner tonight. Okay?" His dad was actually tearing up now, but he at least managed a smile and a nod. "Idjit," Johnny finished for good measure.

#

Castiel was able to return them within moments of leaving. Dean looked more than a little stunned. The angel had to admit that he felt more than a little overwhelmed, himself, to the extent he barely gave passing notice to how easy time travel now came to him. He was far too focused on how his boy had looked as a man. Johnny had been as tall as the angel, his eyes as wide and as green as they were now; his hair resembled Sam's, save for its reddish-blond color. He'd been full of Dean's bravado, but when he stood, he and the angel had nearly mirrored one another.

Originally, Castiel had thought that the trip was merely for the hunter's sake, but he found his chest tightened and he felt his vision blur at the image of the man he had seen just moments before.

"He'll be as tall as you. Built a lot like you, too," Dean said, struggling to get words through the thick emotion stifling his voice.

Cas nodded. "You couldn't see it, but his soul... it is how I imagine yours looked before we met." He wanted to reassure Dean that Johnny wouldn't be broken.

"He's seen stuff, though," Dean said. "Or he will. I know that look, but... he seemed okay, right?"

"He did. Happy." He moved a hand to the back of Dean's head to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "You must stop worrying that his childhood will be like yours. He has a home, a family, and protection that you and Sam always deserved but never got." The expression didn't change, but his voice hardened. "But if you even consider doing this again, I will take Johnny myself."

"I won't. Not again." Dean had gotten his reassurance earlier from Azrael, and he saw Johnny for himself. Castiel wanted to believe him. The angel didn't know what else to offer him to convince him he was a good father, and he truly hoped that Dean would want their son to grow into the man they had just seen.

"Can I see him?" After trying to find a way to give his son to someone else, Dean apparently, and maybe rightfully, felt he needed to ask permission. Castiel's hand firmly grabbed Dean's hand and led him in the direction of the house.

Emma was not quite as forgiving as Castiel, but she also didn't have the ability to look into Dean's soul to know just how damaged it was or see into his mind to know that he really meant it when he said he wasn't going to do this to Johnny again. Still, Dean took it in stride as she, along with Josie and Bobby, berated him for a moment for even thinking of giving up his son, before finally relinquishing him.

As soon as the boy was back in Dean's arms, though, the tension left his body. The baby gave him a quick snuggle and then met his eyes and began to babble happily. Castiel wrapped an arm around Dean's back and placed a hand in the boy's hair.

"That feeling," Bobby said from the other side of the screen door, "that's why you keep trying harder and you don't give up. You all need one another, Idjit."


	55. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night together.

" _And so today, my world it smiles/ Your hand in mine, we walk the miles/ Thanks to you it will be done/ For you to me are the only one/ Happiness, no more to be sad/ Happiness, I'm glad."_

_Led Zepplin – Thank You_

Johnny was going to be a music teacher. He'd be tall, but not taller than Dean, wiry but strong if that hug was any indication. He would be happy. He would have Sam's taste in hair-cuts, but thankfully not sideburns. And Dean and Cas would still be around, and together.

That last part was almost as overwhelming as the vision they had gotten of their son. Twenty-some years from now, Dean was still going to be alive. He was going to make it to fifty-five; he was going to live to be an old hunter. Maybe he wasn't even a hunter by that point, or at least not a full-time one. He was already on the way to that, with the mechanic work that was starting to come in steady now.

It was hard to believe, as he leaned over his son's crib that he would be a man one day. He ran his finger over a freckled cheek and smiled as pink lips smiled in return. "No reason to rush ahead," Dean said. "Got that little guy?"

Johnny let out a contented sigh.

"I could not agree more," Castiel said at Dean's side. The hunter placed a hand over Cas's at the rail to the crib. The angel leaned against him, and for a few moments, they stood, just watching their son sleep. He wasn't entirely sure this was what it meant to have an apple pie life, but it had to be close. He had the house with the white picket fence, even if it was Bobby's; he had a partner, even if he was an angel; he had a child, even if they'd sort of stolen him to get him; and he had his brother safe and sound. It was all he wanted in life.

Cas was absentmindedly stroking his thumb over Dean's finger. "Thank you for taking me to see him," he said, quietly.

"I knew that words would not be enough, not mine or Sam's or Bobby's, at least. You had to hear it from Johnny."

"And see it," Dean said. Not only had Dean not seemed to screw his son up too badly, but he seemed to be getting along fine despite his birth defect. Hell, he managed to major in music, which meant the little guy would be adaptive.

He looked again at the angel, who was still focused on their son with a half-smile on his face. As though sensing that Dean's eyes were on him, Cas turned and looked at Dean questioningly at first, but his expression quickly quickly became a broad smile that overtook his features. Dean thought he had gone a little strange for noticing the way Cas's eyes would crinkle at the corners, how his upper lip would curl up so far that the smile became nearly as much gum as teeth when he was really happy. It wasn't the first time he had noticed these details on the people he cared about. He'd noticed them on Cassie and Lisa, knew them well on Sam and Bobby. It had just never been accompanied by the sort of warmth that all these little details brought in recognizing them on Cas.

Dean wondered at his luck that he would not only find someone who understood all of his bullshit, but someone who would forgive him for it. Or someone he could forgive, too. Cas had fucked up in the past, but the anger at it had all faded away ages ago.

He pulled Cas's hand from the crib and tugged him in the direction of their bedroom.

#

Castiel wished he had brought Dean to see this adult Johnny ages ago. It was remarkable the change that hope for the future brought to every part of the hunter's being. His shoulders no longer looked like they were trying to support the weight of the world. His eyes were bright and he smiled so easily.

He was happy to allow himself to be pulled along behind Dean toward the room they shared. There was a glint in his partner's eyes that promised a little more, which the angel was happy to receive if Dean was willing to give. Dean didn't seem to care that Sam, Emma and Bobby were all downstairs as he pressed his lips to the angel's and began tugging at the soft cotton T-shirt Castiel now wore.

Castiel had never understood the need to hide such things from others, but he had respected Dean's need for privacy in the past, so he was not arguing now as the hunter was taking the lead. The man was still capable of turning the angel into a ball of mush with just a few well placed kisses or touches. Dean blamed it on sensitivity from his inexperience, but Castiel could honestly say that he hoped it wasn't the truth because he wasn't sure he wanted that sensitivity to fade.

A few shifts of his arms and Castiel was divested of the shirt and Dean was kissing over the angel's neck and running his hands down his bare back. Castiel readily tilted his head to grant his lover better access, and he tried not to moan too loudly, since the house  _was_  still crowded and Dean  _did_ have those sensibilities regarding privacy. Still, he wasn't about to be passive in this, either. He began tugging the T-shirt off of Dean's shoulders.

This lightness to Dean right now, so happy and relaxed, was intoxicating. Dean had asked the angel to tap into his head as an added protection for Johnny, but the angel suspected his lover had no idea how much closer that had actually connected them. He was fairly sure that he could not separate himself from the man if he wanted to, though he never thought he would. However, that tie to the hunter was making Castiel feel nearly giddy at the moment, as his own happiness was amplified in the man he loved.

His hands were on Dean's shoulders while the man's thick-skinned palms rubbed over Castiel's back. The evil mastermind found the place where Castiel's wings met between his shoulder blades and pressed solidly against that spot. The angel saw white and his hips instinctively sought out Dean's.

The man kissed down his neck and spoke softly against the skin there. "I love you," he said.

Suspicious that this had been the reason for Dean trying so hard to oversensitize him, Castiel huffed. Dean was still terrified of those words, as though the angel hadn't known their truth already, and he didn't want Castiel to hear them.

Well, too bad for Dean. "I love you, too," the angel replied. The lips quickly left Castiel's pulse points so that Dean could look at him, startled. Castiel was unsure if his surprise was because the angel returned the sentiment or because he had heard him through all of his attempts to distract him. "I told you so before. Do not act surprised now," Castiel said before hooking a thin finger around the leather cord holding the amulet at Dean's neck. His lover took the hint and pressed his lips to the angel's.

Dean had asked him to focus more intently on his emotions for Johnny's safety, and Castiel was certain that even if he were able to pull back from his lover's mind, he wasn't sure he would want to. The pure, unadulterated joy coming from the hunter at that moment must have been the equivalent of being intoxicated on drugs. It was exhilarating and uplifting. He only pitied that his connection with Dean was one-sided. He felt a bit parasitic, leaching off of his partner's happiness without offering anything in return, but focusing on that was becoming more difficult.

The hunter's strong hands insistently pressed at Castiel's spine between his shoulder blades, and it made his wings shudder and flex at the contact. In response, he began to explore Dean's mouth with his tongue. He was bold as his hands slid down to cup Dean's behind, first surprising the man then encouraging him onward. The elation and lust rolling off of the hunter seemed to be endless. It made it difficult for the angel to maintain any guilt for his own side effects of his lover's joy when all of his senses were being overloaded.

Jean-covered hips rubbed against the soft cotton that the angel wore while his hands purposely teased at the spot where Castiel's wings met his shoulders. It was fairly obvious that Dean knew exactly what he was doing to his partner, and before Castiel could remember how to speak in English after a stream of words of love and desire in Enochian, the angel had climaxed.

Boneless, he collapsed on the bed, his wings wrapping around Dean of their own volition. With some surprise to both of them, Dean thudded down on the bed atop the angel. "What was— Was that... Were those your wings?" Dean began feeling the air around him. Castiel could find only the energy to nod. "I could feel them," Dean said in wonder. "Couldn't see anything, and I can't feel anything now... Are they still around me?"

"They are," Castiel said with a smile.

"I don't have the control I once did, not as yet, and particularly not now," the angel explained as he watched Dean settle on the bed beside him. "It is why I did not trust myself not to strike you the moment you returned from your meeting with Azrael. I do not know my own strength, quite literally. Our connection might make you more sensitive to them, as well."

Dean hooked his fingers beneath the band of Castiel's pants. "Do you think we could make you lose control again?" he asked with a smirk.

"I think  _you_  could. Easily." Castiel said, pulling Dean atop him once again and fisting his hand tightly in the man's hair. The cocky smirk that spread across the man's face had to be kissed away, and he readily nibbled at the hunter's full bottom lip while Dean's hand moved behind Castiel's head and lifted it off the bed.

The other calloused hand was sliding beneath the elastic waistband to push the soft pants down further, the cool air in the bedroom brushing over a now-bare hip. Dean broke the kiss to slide the pants downward and moved his mouth to Castiel's stubbled jaw and neck. He bit hard enough that, had Castiel been a human, he certainly would have had a number of marks as the man sucked and nipped his way down the column of the angel's throat.

The whole situation left the angel at a loss for what to do with his hands, and he wasn't sure if he should continue stroking over the man's brown hair or his shoulders or try somehow to unbutton the man's jeans. He opted to keep his hold at his lover's head, particularly at the moment that lips and teeth found Castiel's right nipple.

Dean gave him a self-assured smile around his tongue, which was now busying itself by swirling around the hardened nub. There were some things Dean doubted about himself, but his prowess in the bedroom wasn't one of them. And Castiel could certainly understand why. He squirmed as he felt fingers twisted and tweak at the other nipple while he began to kiss and lick a path down the angel's thin stomach.

And then Dean stopped.

He was staring at the scar, and he had the start of that same look in his eyes that he'd had the night before. Castiel growled and flipped the man onto his back. "None of that." He forced his partner up further onto the bed and pinned his arms above his head and straddled Dean's hips. "We have enemies, you and I, who will try to injure us both. I am not made of glass, and whatever damage I incur will heal. No more guilt, Dean. Not tonight."

Dean met his eyes for a moment, then the green orbs flickered down to the scar. Still, he nodded.

#

They stayed like that—Cas holding Dean down with superhuman strength, both of them breathing heavily, though there was no real reason for the angel to need to other than being turned on, and Dean could see the evidence of that for himself—for some time. Dean had always been aware he liked things rough, but the fact he was getting insanely hot right now was a whole new level because there was no chance he could actually move, even if he wanted to.

"No guilt," he finally parroted, his voice rougher than usual. "Not tonight." He looked up to their hands and back at the angel. "I have an idea of what we could do instead, but you have to let me go for a minute, at least."

Cas actually got a little pink at that, and Dean had plenty of evidence that this was setting off some hidden—or maybe not so hidden—kink in the angel's psyche, too. There was something beautiful about watching Cas come undone that Dean didn't think he'd ever get tired of.

Cas rocked back on his heels and folded his hands at his thighs, half-obscuring the noticeable bulge he'd been sporting. Dean twisted slightly and reached into the bedside drawer for the bottle of lube he'd bought a few weeks ago after realizing he was going to seriously be doing this whole gay sex thing. And as his heart began to speed up and a tiny bit of panic started, he quickly stamped it down and reminded himself that he was really damned turned on.

"Here," he said, grabbing the angel's hand and slapping the bottle into his palm. "And just be glad I didn't buy the gallon jug of the stuff." He was still considering that because he  _was_  dating someone who happened to have a dick. It was going to be a necessity.

"You want me to prepare myself?" Cas asked, and damn but Dean loved that the little guy was more than happy to assume that's how this would go down.

"No," he said. "Me."

Dean tried not to laugh, he really did, but it was a battle he lost when he thought he saw Cas's brain actually stop at the idea. He was about to call "earth to Cas" when it seemed to reset, force him to look down at the bottle again and then back at Dean. To the hunter's surprise, whatever desire the angel felt at the situation seemed to be overridden by some hidden instinct that made him look like a deer caught in the head lights.

"Night of firsts, right? New territory for both of us," Dean explained. "We get to de-hymenate you, and I get to go a night without guilt." He huffed in laughter. "And, you know, take it up the ass."

Cas smiled with his hand tightening around the bottle of lube. "It can hurt, though. I do not wish to hurt you."

"Then be careful and go slow." Dean moved his hands to his waist and began working at his own fly. "I trust you."

Cas flipped open the bottle and looked at it closely. "The seal is already open."

"I might have experimented a little," Dean confessed, pushing at his own pants. "I thought I'd better get an idea, you know?"

With an almost identical look on his face to the time he'd admitted to being a virgin years ago, Cas said, "I  _do_  know. I used Sam's computer to research homosexual intercourse. Apparently, babysitters may be male as well."

Dean barked in laughter. "Cas, do you know what a browser history is?" The angel gave him a blank look, which only made the man laugh louder. "Didn't think so. When he finds it, Sam's going to be so pissed until he realizes it was you." He pushed himself up on his elbows, then to a seated position so he could kiss the dumbfounded angel. "Come on. Can't do this with pants on, and yours are messed up anyway." He kissed him again as he began shoving the endlessly stretchy fabric over those sharp hipbones and lean frame.

"Your fault," the angel muttered against the hunter's mouth.

"No guilt tonight. And definitely not about that." Dean helped Cas shimmy out of his pants, which went much more quickly than getting the jeans off of the hunter's legs.

With their clothing gone and Dean left wearing only his ever-present amulet, they couldn't seem to keep their hands off of one another. Cas had gotten the chance to map out every line and muscle on Dean's body, and it was only fair for the hunter to get the opportunity to do the same. The calloused pads of his palms slid over the angel's chest. The sigil that two years before he had asked Dean to finish when he couldn't take the pain anymore was long since gone. All that was left was a dusting of hair leading from the angel's navel down.

When they finally pulled apart so that Dean could get air, Cas was giving him that look that usually meant he was poking inside of Dean's head. His eyes had gone all squinty and his head was tilted to the side. "You're sure this is what you want?"

Dean picked up the bottle that had gotten dropped on the bed and put it in Cas's hand. He hoped his expression conveyed just how stupid of a question he thought that was. Sure, he was nervous. This was new territory for him. It went way beyond Rhonda Hurley and the pink panties, but he wanted this. He knew this could hurt the first time. Hell, it's why he'd experimented a little on his own. For Cas's first time, though, he didn't want it to feel anything but good.

"I think we need to do this back to front," Dean said. He'd done his research, too, but he'd used a beat-up old laptop Bobby had stored upstairs. It had been slow, and it had tried his patience, but he'd gotten his answers without embarrassment or bitching from his brother. "It's supposed to be easier on people the first time." Yeah, he'd avoided saying bottom or catcher; he was trying to be a forward-thinking man about this, but he was still a little uncomfortable with the fact he was talking about taking a "female" position in this.

But with the way Cas was looking at him, with lust and love in those stupidly blue eyes, he'd get over it.

Dean slid his legs from between Cas's and began arranging the pillows on the bed. He felt his hands wanting to shake in a way they hadn't since he was in high school and about to make his way around the bases for the very first time.

"Dean?" Cas asked, placing his hand on the hunter's freckled shoulder.

"Just nerves, Cas." He smiled, and though it might have been forced in any other situation, his smile was genuine. Almost immediately, Cas's hand was in his hair and the angel was kissing him slow and sweetly. If the man had needed a reminder of the angel's restraint or that Cas would be careful, the kiss supplied it.

Blunt fingernails grazed lightly at Dean's scalp as they broke the kiss and stayed there, foreheads resting against one another, too close to do anything but look into one another's eyes. "I have condoms in the bedside drawer," Dean said.

The angel looked confused. "Do we need them? We are both clean, will be clean... Unless you don't want—"

The thought of going unwrapped had never crossed the hunter's mind. He almost never did, though he'd had his slips in the past. But the idea of it, of having nothing between him and Cas... yeah, he wanted that. "No, no condom then."

Then, Dean turned to the bed, arms and hands far more steady than moments before. They had to shift their legs, Cas moving between Dean's while the hunter knelt, his head buried in the pillows he'd arranged earlier. It left him exposed and vulnerable, but his trust in Cas didn't waiver. He was surprised to find that his nerves weren't winning out over how much he wanted this with the angel. In fact, it was turning him on.

He looked over his shoulder to watch as Cas popped the cap on the lube. He squeezed a nice sized amount on his fingers and slowly smeared it around on them with his thumb. He looked up and met Dean's eyes, silently asking for permission or maybe to prepare Dean for what would come next. The hunter wasn't sure, but he nodded his head in response. Yes, it was okay. Yes, he was as ready as he'd ever be.

A warm palm rested on Dean's thigh, one final warning before a cool, slick fingertip found its way to his hole. The man lowered his head to the pillow now held in his arms and tried to remember to relax.

Cas was as careful as Dean knew he would be. He gently nudged, swirled and then pushed in with one slick finger. He seemed to be working awfully hard back there to find something, Dean's prostate, most likely. The hunter offered another glance over his shoulder and began to laugh when he saw the look of intense concentration on his lover's face.

The finger made a hasty retreat, and to Dean's surprise, he kind of missed it. "What am I doing wrong?" Cas asked, looking worried that he  _was_  doing something wrong and a little irritated at Dean for his laughter.

"Nothing," Dean said. "You just... You were making this face. You'd have thought you were the one with a finger up your ass."

"I do not want this to be unpleasant for you, and I am working very hard to ensure you enjoy it," Cas said, sounding a lot like a whiny four-year-old. If that four year old smoked ten packs a day since birth.

"It's fine, Cas. You were doing fine. Just ignore me when I'm being a dick."

"Then I would never pay attention to you at all," Cas said, and he had this shitty smirk on his face that if Dean had been in any other position, he would have it kissed away.

"Don't be a smart ass, Cas," Dean said as he rested his head back on the pillow.

#

Dean was being far calmer about this than Castiel had anticipated. In fact, this was not how he would have imagined this scenario unfolding at all. He had done his research on both positions, but this first time, he had expected Dean to take the lead. That he wasn't and was, instead, allowing them to both experience a "first" together had an importance that was not lost on the angel.

He had been trying to locate Dean's prostate, which should have been much easier, given his familiarity with the man's body, inside and out, but from this angle, it was somewhat more difficult than he had anticipated. He knew he wanted to give his lover pleasure, and he was certain what he was currently doing was probably doing was not all that pleasant. So, tentatively, he brought one hand between the man's legs and gently cupped his testicles.

The noise that Dean made at that definitely sounded like the angel was on the right track.

His hand seemed to be providing enough of a distraction to relax Dean for Castiel's second finger. The man was tight and hot and the image of what he was soon going to be able to do was driving him crazy. He had very little experience of anything sexual or any outside stimulation to his genitals, beyond his experiences with Dean or a brush of fabric against them.

He found himself moaning out that single syllable of his lover's name and received his own in a hushed voice in return.

And then, his middle finger struck something inside of Dean that made the hunter buck and moan far more loudly. Apparently, he'd found what he was looking for. He teased the spot and stroked his lover's penis in the way he was desperately trying not to do to his own. It was only fair, after all, that he give a little to the man who was so easily able to turn Castiel into a boneless heap.

Though he wished he could see his lover's face, from this view, Castiel was able to appreciate each catlike arch of Dean's back and each responding thrust of his hips. He could hear the moans of Castiel's name and the muffled moans that Castiel tried to ignore that were likely his father's name, uttered out of habit. Dean was attempting to keep them in the pillow, at least, so as not to ruin the mood.

Castiel had stumbled across his lover a few times after he had first pulled him from hell and found him in the throws of passion with whatever woman he chose to meet up with for that particular tryst. He had seen Dean unravel slightly before, but Castiel was beginning to get the impression that if he did things right tonight, he would get to see Dean Winchester completely undone. For once, in a good way.

Dean shuddered as Castiel began to add a third finger inside him. This was not going as smoothly as one or two and the angel tried to subtly use his powers. But he was still not entirely in control of how strong his abilities were. He'd been trying to relax Dean for only a few seconds before the hunter turned his head and glanced over his shoulder at him.

"Did you just try to heal me?" Dean asked.

"I... maybe?" Castiel answered.

"Fuck, Cas. You need a better rein on your mojo. I feel like I've just taken a hit of something damned good. Stop it or I am not going to be able to think right in a few minutes."

Castiel had the third finger in, finally, without causing his lover pain. He smirked and tried to adopt a tone that was not so much dry logic as it was a flirty rejoinder. "I thought that was the general idea, you not being able to think in a few minutes."

"Are we doing dirty talk now?" Dean asked with a smirk of his own before again placing his head back down on the pillow. "Because I think I'm just about ready, Cas. Go ahead and fuck me."

Castiel could hear the nervousness in Dean's voice, but also the conviction. He moved his hand to gently rub at the hunter's thigh before removing his fingers. He didn't bother to ask Dean if he was sure. Castiel knew his lover well enough to assume that the statement would smack of insult to him.

Rising up on his knees so that his hips would be in the proper position, Castiel took his penis into his right hand while rubbing his lover's lower back soothingly. "I love you," he said quietly, because now that it had been said, he was sure he wouldn't be able to stop saying it.

"I know," Dean said. Castiel knew enough to be aware that was a movie reference, though he didn't know what movie. It may not have been a return of the words, but it stood in their place. Castiel had long since prepared himself for the possibility he might never hear Dean utter the actual sentiment, but he always knew it was there.

#

Dean felt Cas shifting behind him and the slow nudge as he prepared to push into him.  _Deep breaths_ , he reminded himself.  _Stay relaxed_. He had read enough, played enough, over the last few days to know this should feel good, but if Cas sensed even a hint of discomfort, let alone pain, he would stop, and damn it, Dean wanted to do this.

The angel reached around Dean with his left hand and slowly stroked him as the angel began his steady push forward. The hunter was torn between discomfort—not yet pain—and pleasure. For someone who was relatively inexperienced, Cas had gotten very good with his hands.

The burn grew worse as the head of Cas's cock pressed into Dean's hole, stretching it wide and then the relief, slight as it was, when the head was finally inside him. Behind him, Cas was breathing heavily, either as mimicry of what a human would be doing in his position or being so caught up in the physical sensations that he  _did_ actually need those deep breaths. "This is..." he managed between the labored breaths. "...overwhelming."

Dean managed an affirmative grunt in response. That was definitely one word for it.

"Are you in pain? Do you wish me to stop?"

"No," Dean answered quickly. "Just be slow and let me adjust."

The hand that had been stroking Dean's dick stopped and gently rubbed circles at his hip. "Of course."

Dean would regret that request, though, as Cas was painfully slow pushing deeper into Dean's body. Inch by agonizing inch was accommodated by his body until Cas's hips met his ass. Then, a warm body draped over Dean's own and his shoulders and back of his neck were peppered in kisses. One wiry arm was supporting most of the angel's weight while the other wrapped around the hunter's chest and just waited for the okay to move ahead.

Turning his head, the man met blue eyes, their pupils blown in lust. He saw lips being licked and wet as though wanting to seek out Dean's but unable to in this position. He felt the hand at his chest give a reassuring move, but which unintentionally tweaked a nipple. Dean gasped, which only encouraged the angel to repeat the move.

"Go ahead, Cas," he said, still trying to get over the overly full feeling and their closeness in that moment. "You can move."

Words must have escaped the angel in that moment, because Dean only felt the brush of stubbled cheeks against his shoulder. Even with his head turned the way it was, he couldn't see Cas clearly as he moved back, but his lips kissed down Dean's spine far further than should have been anatomically possible as he made his drawn-out retreat that was stuttered with each kiss and each sudden gasp for air from either of their mouths.

And then a sharper press forward, a hastier retreat. If it had crossed Dean's mind earlier that he should be quiet because there were people downstairs, that thought was long gone. He moaned Cas's name as he struck that amazing bundle of nerves inside and slid a hand beneath where they were connected to press two fingers behind Dean's balls.

"You little fucker," was all Dean could manage as his brain short circuited. Seriously, putting Dean back together shouldn't have given Cas unlimited access to Dean's happy buttons.

"You are half correct," Cas said before moving one hand to the hunter's hip and the other to wrap around his shaft and start stroking him.

Dean had always done things in a sort of matching rhythm, touching or stroking in a similar pattern that could be expected, but there was no anticipating this. His brain made better sense out of patting his head and rubbing his stomach than these two seemingly incongruous rhythms, and it was driving him crazy in all the right ways. His hips was twitching and convulsing on their own, and he was damned sure his brain didn't know which to respond to, the slow up and down of Cas's hand or the driving beat of his thrusts.

He could only say his partner's name repeatedly, even if his voice was getting completely wrecked, listen to Cas chant Dean's name and words of love behind him, and revel in the feeling of it all—including the occasional tickle of feathers, as though he needed to add another kink to Dean's list. Cas lowered again until his stomach and chest were at Dean's back. His lips didn't seem to stop moving. If they weren't occupied speaking or moaning, they were littering freckled skin with kisses or sucking it hard enough to leave more than a dozen little red marks.

Dean's fists tightened in the pillow, but his other muscles seemed on the verge of giving out at any moment. His arms shook, not from their combined weight or even Cas's harsh thrusts, but because his entire body had begun to react to the erratic pattern of Cas's thrusts and strokes. It was willpower alone that allowed Dean to properly stay upright while his instincts seemed to want to go limp and just enjoy the ride.

Cas held out longer than Dean expected before he felt the angel's body go rigid behind him and the telltale warmth spread inside his body. The angel was still riding out his own high when Dean came and tightened around the surprisingly welcome intruder still buried deep in him. Cas went limp and collapsed atop the hunter with an apology but he made no attempt to move; he seemed to lack the ability entirely.

"Thank you," Cas said, his voice barely more than a raspy whisper.

"You don't need to thank me for that," Dean said, then tried to blow away a feather twitching at his nose that he could not see. "If you didn't notice, I enjoyed myself, too."

"I am pleased you did."

"And now you're not a virgin anymore," Dean said.

"Indeed." Cas pulled out slowly, then flopped at the man's side. Without asking, Cas immediately healed Dean of any aches or discomfort from their lovemaking.

#

Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's and wrapped an arm around his lover. The man's hand grasped at the angel's bicep as he kissed him lightly. Castiel's mind was still reeling. His thoughts were unfocused, alternating from the strange swelling feeling in his chest and stomach to the memory of hot-slick-tight.

Still, when they parted and he could look at Dean more closely, wanting to be sure there was no regret for their actions or that Dean had taken the more "feminine" role in them. To Castiel's relief and immense joy, he saw Dean fully relaxed and at peace. He wasn't certain he had ever seen that look on his lover's face before, but he hoped in that future he had shown him, he got to see it often.

He offered a slow smile and another kiss before cleaning them both and holding Dean close as he finally began to drift to sleep.


	56. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone for following this story through to the end. If you replied months ago, prepare for me to suddenly give you an answer because I'm going to scour through this site and make sure comments did not go unresponded to. It's been a long journey for me of more than a year and over 250,000 words, but it's been a really good one. I hope it has been for you, too.

Epilogue

There was a change in Dean after that night, though Castiel was unsure if he was the only one who actually saw the shift, at least at first. He could not pinpoint specifically what had caused it, if it was the reassurances from Azrael that Johnny would be safe and the boy could neither be taken away from nor given away by his fathers, if it was Castiel's easy forgiveness, or if it had been the adult version of Johnny. Maybe it was the young version, the one who was so quick to smile at his Daddy, snuggle against him, and call out for him when the night terrors inevitably came.

Castiel had feared that those night terrors would bring only guilt for Dean, and they had and still did at times, but they also brought out the hunter's protective streak. In the same way Dean could not believe anyone could protect Sam better than he, the man was beginning to really believe he was the best guardian for Johnny, save for Castiel, perhaps.

Dean had also become more tactile over the last few weeks. The small touches became more frequent, and the hunter had taken to eating meals at home with a hand resting on the angel's knee. In public, even if public consisted only of Sam or Bobby, he was not as demonstrative as he was in private. The touches then barely went beyond the casual, and only a trained eye could tell they were signs of affection between these two men.

Yet, if Castiel chose to initiate more, he was never rebuffed. Kisses, hugs, cuddling had all become acceptable public behavior, even if family or strangers were nearby. The very tips of Dean's ears still turned red out of his own self awareness and embarrassment, but the angel found it surprisingly endearing.

Though hunting continued, Dean began to get more mechanic work, which interfered with completing the work on the Valiant. Castiel was growing concerned that Mr. Helmsworth would not take to the extended delay on the vehicle. However, Dean appeared to be intentionally placing the car at the bottom of his "to-do" list. When Castiel asked about it, Dean had told him that he was waiting on a part to arrive, and though the angel could instantly spot it for the lie it was, he also recognized that it was not malicious. Neither brought up the car again until the summer heat had nearly passed and September had finally come.

"I have something I want to show you," Dean said, as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Castiel agreed to go along, in part because Sam had taken Johnny for some "Uncle-nephew bonding" and Bobby was again staying at Jody's house, which was becoming more common of late. Castiel had also been missing Dean—and Johnny as well, though they had spent the entire day together just yesterday. With his "real" job making demands of his time, Dean had been forced to let Castiel and Sam go on a hunt together, though not without much protesting, and they had been away for three days.

The hunt had required use of the amulet, leaving Castiel unable to to just pop home, and he had been further disappointed to find that Dean had very little free time yesterday to spend with Castiel. He had been in the garage all day until the point of exhaustion. Dean had, at least, listened and smiled and kissed the angel while he explained that the siren they had been hunting had been sorely disappointed to realize that Castiel's tastes were very specific and it could not trick him into any form of saliva exchange.

The story had not, to the angel's consternation, brought out Dean's possessive side, and he had frustratingly continued his work, leaving Castiel leaning against the side of the Valiant as Dean labored on.

So, when Castiel saw Dean extending a hand to him and waiting for the angel to take it, he did, but not without feeling both pleased and further confused by Dean's actions.

"Sorry I was sort of absent yesterday," Dean said. "But I really wanted to get a few things done. I still can't believe the siren actually went for you, knowing you were an angel." And there was that possessiveness—though thankfully not jealousy because Dean knew better—that Castiel had been secretly hoping for.

"The siren saw me as a challenge, and the most destructive tool it could have in its arsenal. It tried flirting with me in so many forms, and finally in yours. As though I wouldn't see right through that."

"It probably didn't count on you knowing me inside and out," Dean said as he led them through the salvage yard and along a small dirt road.

"I imagine not."

Then they stopped and Dean gestured with a flourish to the completed Valiant. The pearlescent paint job gleaned in the noon sun. Though the car would soon be given to the woman it it had first belonged to, Castiel was still drawn to the oddly shaped car.

The interior was a shade of green that Dean had, with a disgusted curl of his lips, called seafoam, but the seats were a richer green with white at the edges. None were quite the mossy shade that Castiel had grown to appreciate, but the rich, vibrant color did elicit thoughts of their son's bright eyes.

"Want to take it for a spin?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded and started to walk to the passenger side. A gentle but firm hand on his arm stopped him, and he realized belatedly that he was being handed the keys.

"I can't," Castiel said. "What if I wreck it? What will Mr. Helmsworth say?"

"I'll fix it again if you do. And he won't care. It turns out his wife hasn't exactly been faithful, so he wanted to see if I could help him find a buyer. I did."

Castiel was not unintelligent by any means, but he struggled when things made no logical sense. Like they did just now. There was a simple solution right in front of him, he knew, but it had one major stumbling block: "But you hate this car."

"And you like it. That's what mattered." Dean placed the keys in Castiel's hadn and folded the angel's fingers around them. "I finished the Camero early and had finally gotten the last of the parts for this. I was pushing to get it finished yesterday."

Castiel opened the driver's door and waited for Dean to take his spot beside him to instruct him on what to do.

#

Though the car had been a pretty obvious romantic gesture on his part, teaching Cas to drive, even on a deserted road, without losing his patience was not easy. Cas was no driver, not yet, and Dean had stomped on the floor a few times wishing he had installed a secondary brake pedal.

When his nerves couldn't take any more, he told Cas to pull over and put the car in park. Dean cursed those damned big blue eyes as they looked at him apologetically. With Cas, Sam, and Johnny now all capable of giving him a look resembling a kicked puppy, Dean knew he was screwed.

The car lurched to a stop as it was put in ger before being properly stopped with the brakes. "You'll get the hang of it eventually. It takes time." He placed his hand at the back of the angel's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "But this looks like as good a spot as any."

"For what?" Cas asked, breath tickling over Dean's lips.

He opened the door and noted with some satisfaction that his partner lurched forward when he moved. Apparently Cas hadn't wanted to break the contact between them. The angel did amazing things for Dean's pride, even if his fearless PDAs were sometimes a little embarrassing.

Dean walked around to the back of the car, pulling out his familiar keyring—with its two new keys attached and opened the trunk to remove the old metal cooler and a relatively clean canvas tarp. Maybe he should have gotten a quilt and done this "right," but he didn't see the sense in getting a good blanket dirty.

He began to spread the tarp on the ground, when Cas seemed to get the idea and help. "This is a picnic," he said more than asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Nothing special. Just some beer, some pie, and a couple of sandwiches. If that's okay."

"I have no need to eat, so anything would be enjoyable."

Dean smirked. "Does that mean I can have your pie?" he asked as he opened the cooer and twisted the top off of one of the beers.

"Not on your life," Cas said as he took the beer from Dean and settled down onto the paint and grease-splattered tarp. "Am I to assume that you had a hand in sending everyone away today?"

"I might've, though sending Bobby to Jody's isn't exactly a hardship. He's apparently got a drawer at her place."

"Making room for another's clothing holds special significance?" Cas asked with that little quirk of his head. He was probably already putting the pieces together that Dean had done the same for him long before anything had actually happened between them.

"Yeah. It usually happens before people move in together," Dean said, turning to the cooler to avoid Cas's curious stare. "Or just that they're making room in their life for you. Something like that." He vaguely remembered sitting in a hospital waiting room once reading an old edition of Cosmo that had said something like that. He didn't like sounding like Cosmo. Or admitting even internally he'd read it.

"Oh." That was all the angel had to say on the matter, but when Dean handed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, because the dude was a sugar fiend and would be unimpressed by ham and cheese, he saw a contented little smile on Cas's face. And, yeah, it felt really nice to know he'd put it there.

"This is very nice," Cas said after they sat in silence leaning against the cooler and finishing up their sandwiches.

"Yeah. It is." His hand found Cas's and they just sat there, finishing their pie and listening to the sounds of the steady South Dakota winds.

Dean's ears picked up on a low rumble and he soon saw a black car approaching in the distance. He knew Baby's engine anywhere, but he didn't know why it was coming here when Sam was supposed to have Johnny for at least another hour. The Impala was there soon enough, parked by the blasphemous thing he'd bought and worked on because he loved the stupid angel. He could appreciate that the pearl white looked cool next to the black, but it was  _still_  a Valiant.

Cas was already on his feet, worried something was wrong with their boy.

When the motor cut, Dean could hear Johnny crying and he was nearly as quick to his feet and the door as Cas. Sam hopped out of the car. "He's running a fever, probably from teething." They had done this two weeks ago. "But he was calling out for you two."

Both parents took a side of the car and hopped in the back with their boy. Dean pressed a hand to Johnny's forehead, noting that he was still warm but sticky with sweat, the fever had broken, at least. Dean watched Cas hesitate to touch Johnny. He was trying to resist his instinct to heal him. They'd agreed, the angel reluctantly doing so, to allow Johnny to occasionally get sick and deal with the non-threatening childhood illnesses to let his immune system do what it was supposed to and help him develop without the belief he was invincible.

They proceeded to smother him in comforting touches and kisses. Dean felt a pat on his back. "Take him home. I'll get everything cleaned up here and take the Valiant home," Sam said. With a quick change of keys, Sam led the parents back to the house in the odd white car.

And if Dean heard Cas whisper, "Well, I can make you feel a  _little_  better, and we don't have to tell Daddy," he didn't say a word. He didn't like seeing Johnny in pain any more than Cas did. And when he caught Cas's eyes in the rearview mirror while the angel was trying to find out if he'd been caught, Dean just smiled.

#

It's been about two decades since the "Winchester Gospel" came to a close, ending on a note nearly as ambiguous as "And they lived happily ever after." Some of that, I always understood. The fates of my family as well as Lucifer and Michael were better left unpublished. I have picked up the pen instead, perhaps to become the author of the future's version of the gnostic gospels or Dead Sea Scrolls. Who knows?

I just didn't feel like my family's story was done. When they came to visit me today at school looking so young, so stunned, I was reminded that my parents had sacrificed a hell of a lot to get me here, to get everyone here. All of that was still very fresh on their young faces, and seeing that made me pick up the pen again, even after chewing them both out for the lack of warning.

I pull up to the front of the only house I've ever known, technically out of the Sioux Falls limits, yet considered as much a part of it as the town hall—that tends to happen when a person not only has a thriving business, but saves the city a few dozen times. The familiar signs of the white picket fence and manicured law greet me, and I see the sign over the now quite large garage and smile. "Singer Salvage and Winchester Auto Repair." Dad, along with Tad helping with some of the books, has been managing things for years, but the sign remains the same.

There is a light on in the garage, probably my cousin putting in a late shift because that type A personality couldn't stand leaving anything unfinished, and we'll all just ignore the oil and smudges at dinner because "There's no point in going crazy with the shower because I'm going right back to finish once I've eaten" or "You wanted me here, right? It would have taken too long to shower and get here. I'll be cleaned up tomorrow, though. I swear."

I walk up to the front of the house and open the door with the key I'll never relinquish. I look into my parents' livingroom to find them curled up on the sofa together, watching the television. It looks like Tad has won the battle over what is on the TV, given it is a documentary, but perhaps that was the consolation prize, because Dad is too busy staring at my baby daughter asleep against his chest.

I want to give them hell, I really do, but not now. Maybe it is the fact we are headed to my rehearsal dinner in an hour that has me feeling so sentimental, looking at these two men who have been together for the last two and a half decades. Maybe it's the fact that my Dad is busy playing with the small hand wrapped around his finger and my Tad has one of his hands moving through brown hair that is slowly turning a steely gray while watching them. I  _will_  give them hell later, just not in front of my future father-in-law—Ramona and Fallyn are already way too familiar with our family to care about something as minor as time travel.

Eventually, the good doctor will understand, too. Winchester weird takes some time getting used to, but soon enough you realize it's pretty fucking awesome.

" _We're all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you've been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there's no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn't until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we're ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you're looking for. You're looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, "This is the problem I want to have." Galway Kinnell_


End file.
